Tony From Scratch
by Velvetbabe
Summary: Inside the mind of both Tony and Maxxie, following the bus accident.  Slash.
1. Dead Fucking Wood

**Summary**: Tony's recovery from a brain injury following the bus accident, Maxxie's role in same, and the impact on their relationship.

**Warning**: _The author is very fond indeed of slash, so it's best when reading any of her stories to expect same._

**Disclaimer**: I sure as hell own neither these characters nor Skins in any way, shape or form.

**Note**: At present, this is a work in progress.

**Reviews**: As always, desperately sought, greatly appreciated. Thank you.

* * *

**TONY FROM SCRATCH **

**

* * *

**

**It's weird, living inside your head**, inside this fuzzy unreality all the time. People visit you, sometimes for hours, and you can sort of make out some of what they say, sometimes, but can't open your eyes to see them, can't move, can't fucking ask for a glass of water. Pretty much defines 'surreal'.

They talk to you, though, no matter that you're lying here like dead fucking wood, no matter that they can't know if you can even bloody _hear_. Thing is, they don't even know that you'll ever wake up, for fuck's sake, so for whoever they are, it must sort of be like a desperate thing.

* * *

My hand is held a lot, I know that. Usually by small, soft hands, belonging I'm guessing to whomever my mum is, or maybe some girl, who knows, or a nurse, but I sort of doubt that. They do the dirty work- bathing me, emptying the piss bag, even shaving me, puncturing my fingertips for the millionth time for samples – which initially was something like 15 times a day. They hate me, I'm sure. Bloody nuisance – lanky bloke, almost too tall for the bed I've heard them say, and they struggle each time like mad to get me into the big hoist thing without dropping me, so I can be transported into a special chair for spastics, so that I'm not constantly on my back – you get bedsores otherwise, y'see, which are quite nasty things from what I understand, and then there's the ever present threat of pneumonia when you're lying down all the time. Bad way to go, that.

* * *

If I could only bloody wake up from this ... _thing_, wake up from being sealed inside my own frigging body.

Even if I do, I'll never be the same, was the quote, as far as I can tell, that I heard some male voice say- a doctor ? Or maybe it was said out of fear, a question, by some relative or friend. Fuck's sake, you'd think they'd know enough not to say such things right in front of me, though, huh?

* * *

I can't feel a whole lot, like, but I'm so plugged full of needles – as big as pencils, and slow drips and drugs and shit, I'm in so much of a stupor all the time that who knows if there isn't agonizing pain somewhere underneath it all.

I definitely feel emotions, like fear, and bewilderment, this sense that I'm floating – suspended in this fucked up unreal purgatory thing where no one can reach you and you can reach no one. Depressing. Hugely.

* * *

Who knows what the fuck happened – I have zero memory of anything, of who I am, how long I've been here, or why in bloody hell I'm even here. Who am I ? Where in fuck do I live ? If I were to wake up right now and walk out of here, I wouldn't know where my home was. Terrifying.

* * *

For a long while I didn't know my own name, and I'm still not entirely sure, though people keep saying this name 'Tony', which might belong to me, but I can't really be sure. Of course, I simply could have heard wrong. I have nonsense thoughts all the time, fuck knows, so I probably did.

* * *

Who the fuck _was_ I before all this ?

My brain is on a continuous mission, circling itself for answers, trying to grasp 'normality', and it panics when for the millionth time, none come.

Or is it simply that I'm dead?

* * *

My dreams are incredibly intense, I know that, so no, probably not dead. I see faces I feel like I should know that I have some sort of pull towards, but can't for the life of me place. There's sometimes this girl, petite brunette, in a school uniform, who just stares at me and says nothing. Then some geek kid, with glasses and a wool hat. No idea who these fucking people are. So frustrating. I dream about violent shit too – blood, gore, being crushed, being smashed to bits. Once I dreamt I was a goat being slaughtered, just an innocent animal minding my own business, and I could totally feel fear, like, the horror at the knowledge that I'm about to be killed. I dream I'm in intense pain, sometimes, and I can't wake up from it. When I do 'wake up' out of the dream, I feel paranoid and freaked and sad.

* * *

Some time has passed, I guess, judging from the little snippets of conversation I can make out, which in itself is maddening because some bits of it I can grasp, and then the rest is total gibberish, or I can't hear cuz they're talking on the other end of the room.

But anyway, ya, some time has apparently passed. I heard someone say something about two months, then later it seemed that's how long I've been here, out cold like a zombie. Two _months_ ! Christ, it's so shocking. How much longer will I be like this ? Six months ? A year ? How long until they finally give up on me ?

See, it's these paranoid terrors that especially suck. A part of me knows they're not 'rational', cuz, I mean, somebody obviously cares enough to see that I'm bathed and lying in clean sheets and all, but still, I live in terror of that day – that it could be any day now, in fact, and for a variety of reasons – medical, financial, bureaucratic (dead blob taking up a hospital bed when others need it), that their patience finally runs out ...

Believe me, pondering this on any sort of frequent basis fucking well wears you down. I have to talk to myself like I'm two years old, to get past it.

_Why _the fuck couldn't my brain have turned off until I wake up? If I ever do ? _Why_ leave me in this pathetic suspended state where I'm such a fucking mess ?

* * *

Somewhere past the two month mark, I gather, it happens. My eyelids, I suddenly realize, it suddenly _clicks_, are actually something I can control. On my own. Wow! So easy – _why didn't I try this before ? _

So ... I go and fucking well do it. I swear I can feel the nerves in my brain sending the signal, and then the receptors receiving it ... obeying my request ... and then it fucking well happens -_ just because I wanted it to_ - my lids open, a bit ... only it hurts – like fuck. Damned intense daylight flooding the room, blinding, so I shut them immediately. Scary. Everything from here on is going to be really fucking scary.

* * *

At some point later – it could be minutes, it could be days – it's the particularly maddening thing about coma – all sense of time is shattered – two or three months or however long it's been by now, feels both like minutes, and years.

At any rate, at some point later I try it again ... just open my lids a tiny bit, then a bit more, and once I adjust to the light I see this woman I don't know, sitting by the bed, quietly reading. She looks drawn and tired. I don't want to draw her attention just yet – I don't think I could handle anyone freaking out on me right now, if she's a relative or my mum or something, so I simply shift my gaze and look round the room without turning my head. Hospital, for sure. Ugly gray walls and the stench of antiseptic or something – wow, so apparently my nose is working, too. Fuckin' hell. I focus my gaze downward and see something sticking out of it, some tubes that are clearly shoved up my nostrils, which means they're extending down into my lungs, which, shit, is a bit unnerving. How bad am I that I can't breathe on my own?

I'm aware that my back is dead sore – undoubtedly from months of pressing into this mattress. I move a hand against it, the bed, and it feels bony to the touch, like a cheap cot.

Okay, well, the movement caught her eye and she's covered her mouth and is running from the room shrieking "_NURSE_ !" over and over at the top of her lungs.

Great.

* * *

So now is the really weird part. A room full of smiling strangers, undoubtedly family and friends, ... and I know not one of them. _Not one ! _It's _so_ fucking distressing and weird, I can't tell you – can't even begin to describe waking up on some other planet and you're an alien freak - you know nothing, can't speak the language, don't know the customs, don't know a soul, _and you're entirely alone in this_. Even if you could speak, no one would understand the gibberish coming from you. All your connections, all your memories completely bloody fucked. As far as you're concerned you are one hour old, yet trapped in the body of a semi-adult.

It can't be helped; _too_ fucking overwhelming. Like an absolute tosser, as people watch, I have a bit of a fit and start to cry. Great. Terrific. Thankfully the nurse quickly shoos everyone from the room and I have a good old fashioned private sobbing bawl.

* * *

People keep visiting me, in ones and twos, now, so as not to overwhelm the brain damaged nutter. Yes, that's what I've overheard, _brain damage_. Something about a bus – as in, I was hit by one, I gather, some 3 months ago, I think. Grisly affair; numerous broken bones, several surgeries, pins lodged within to keep parts of me straight which then later had to be removed. Sounds excruciating. It was a fairly gruesome scene at first, I gather. Lots and lots of blood, but the irony is, as I lie here, I look normal – no scars except those on my torso from surgery. Through some miracle my face was left intact, however directly behind it is the problem: my damned brain, on top of which sits a nice sizable threatening bag of blood, which may or may not get absorbed with time, I'm sort of piecing together, though no one is about to tell me the truth.

Some of my speech has returned – _some, _which in a way is worse than if none had, as I'm able to stutter out maybe one in every seven words that comes into my head, and even those are so often dead wrong that I stop trying as it's humiliating ... but the bloody nurses won't let me – they keep saying I need to "exercise my cerebral cortex" which I'm told over and fucking _over, _is responsible for shit like language and memory.

Just small inconsequential stuff, then.

Eventually I'm informed this condition in my brain is inoperable – too risky to cut me open and vacuum out the blood, as is done in some cases, so exercising it's the only path to recovery, which scares me so bad that I go on blathering, even to myself, over and over, horrifying as it is to hear yourself utter complete nonsense – _sounds_, some of the time, like I'm some fucking ape, but then suddenly somewhere in the middle there will be a real word, only it'll be 'plant' when I mean to say 'chair', or 'bus' when I mean to say 'bed'. Seriously, you can't imagine the frustration of seeing the word in your mind, _so_ _clearly _you can fucking _taste _it_, _and then sending the signals to your lips and tongue to speak it ... only to have it come out bloody 'car' or 'black' or 'arse' - anything but what you meant.

* * *

I've taken to throwing fits and stuff. I'm hardly steady on my feet, but when I'm frustrated, which is like, always, I'll grab, or rather, knock over anything around me (seeing as I have neither the motor skills, coordination, nor strength to really 'grab' anything.) I once managed to pull off my own threadbare hideous nightshirt thing, which fucking leaves my arse bare, I keep trying to tell them, and stumbled naked down the hall in a pathetic attempt to run from this place, only of course, to fall, and then have the humiliating experience of three oversized orderlies, or whatever they call them, drag me, as if I'm in some mental ward, screaming and crying like a complete nut case, back to the fucking hellhole room.

When one of these incidents was unfortunately witnessed by the woman I'm told is my mum, she burst into tears and ran from the place herself.

Can't exactly blame her.

* * *

Okay, it's some time further down the road now, and I'm making good progress, I'm told, as far as language, and shit, and though the faces that return with any regularity are becoming familiar, these people's identities are still mostly blank, to me.

The girl who says she's my sister sits with me the most, and she's a bit of a nutter herself. She tells me she barely spoke a word, for some reason, for like a year, prior to my accident, but anyway, she's helped a lot. She reads to me and makes me repeat sentences back to her, and she won't let me quit. I beg her sometimes, yell at her just to leave me the fuck alone, and she yells back and calls me a whining, obnoxious bastard and a self-pitying pussy ... and it's so shocking that is sort of shames me into doing it.

* * *

At some point, many weeks into these daily speaking exercises when I'm getting across maybe 70% of my words, which let me tell you feels like a fucking miracle, I ask her, for the fiftieth time, about the accident ... only she refuses to talk. I snap, as best I can, that I don't care if she doesn't wanna talk about it, that I have a right to know, and then I stupidly call her a bitch – which, yes, is shitty of me considering how often she comes – every day, signifying that she obviously cares a great deal or she wouldn't, but at the same time, you have to understand that my emotions are so _on the surface_ that I can't help it; in a way the accident has left me with the attention span as well as patience and emotional maturity of a three year old.

So, she throws the word drill book right at my face, yells at the top of her lungs, '_fuck you, motherfucking cunt !'_ and storms from the room. Boy, she's got a mouth on her.

When I'm told later that she witnessed the accident – was the sole witness in fact – saw her only sibling run over by a bus and left bruised and broken in the middle of the street with blood pouring from his mouth, and that she thought she was looking at a corpse, I have more of an understanding.

* * *

Others visit, not just the girl who says she's my sister. (Not that I don't believe her, but I don't _know_ the bloody girl, so it feels weird calling her "my sister", especially when I'm told we were close, and here I sit feeling virtually nothing for her ...)

There's the woman who I'm told is my mum, and the bloke who says he's my dad. It's always a bit of an emotional scene – for them, I mean, so in a way I sort of dread them coming. Also, I can't believe when I sit here looking at them, that I feel zilch for these people, and they're my fucking parents ! Talk about a mind fuck – the hugest one imaginable.

Then there's the people who are apparently my friends. Like the black girl- can't remember her name. Jane? She doesn't say much, but one time shows me her trombone, or flute, or whatever it's called, and even plays it for me a bit. She's good. Seems like a nice girl.

There's the blonde airy girl, skinny as a post, called Charlie, or Chrissie, I think, who gushes and smiles a lot and says 'wow' all the time. She doesn't seem to know what to say, but then no one does. She talks a lot about food, but never eats, apparently.

There's the goofy looking lad Chris – for some reason I can remember his name but not my own sister's. He dresses weird – funny, ugly knit hats and goofy high pants. He talks a mile a minute; most of the time I can't keep up so I just sit there, dumbly staring. He's offered me some sort of druggy cig a few times, but I'm too afraid of it. Life for me right now is surreal enough- the last thing I need is some hallucinogenic freakout experience on top of everything else.

There's a pretty curly haired girl whom I sort of have a vague recall of, though it's entirely muddied. Nobody says it, but I'm gathering she was maybe my girlfriend. I will emphasize 'was', as she visits less and less, now, and can't seem to stand the sight of me in my sorry idiot state. Once again, I can't find myself blaming her. I _am_ a pathetic mess.

There's an Indian looking kid, skinny as fuck, who talks even faster than Chris, and goes on to me constantly about the nurses, only one of which, for me, has even registered as being reasonably attractive, but this kid doesn't see it – all he sees is the bounty of womanhood. He's clearly sex-crazed, but I'm not one to point fingers – it's not like I have any sexual impulses or thoughts, ever. Someone mentioned something about my apparently being a 'player' at one point, sort of like a ladies man, even, which to me right now is inconceivable. I'm convinced they're taking the piss. Certainly in my present state, sex does not cross my mind, ever. What would be the point ?

Let's see ... there's that geek boy with the hat and glasses. Sam? He, like the curly haired girl, I seem to have some recall of, but it's useless to me – too vague. I gather we were maybe close at one point. Dunno. He, like her, seems awkward and the conversation is semi-stilted, like he's partly here out of duty, or it's just too painful for him, which feels uncomfortable and shitty.

It seems the closer people were to me before, the harder it is for them to stand being around me now. How depressing is that ?

Finally, there's this bleach blonde kid called ... Marcus ? Michael ? Can't recall. Blue eyes, likes to wear scarves. As far as frequency, he visits second only to my sister, and reads to me and talks to me lots, and helps me practice speaking, and shows me his sketchpad. He's really talented, and is apparently also a dancer, and I gather, gay. He's mentioned some boyfriend, or they've just split up, or something. Can't recall. He's probably the most interesting person who visits and in truth, I look forward to his more than anyone's because he wasn't apparently as close to me as some, and so consequently it's less of a strain for him to see me this way, which overall is a lot easier on me.

Somehow, too, even moreso than my sister, the kid gets me to open up about things (as much as I can), which I guess I need to do. Maybe cuz he's here so often, he's worn down my defences a bit. He also, like my sister, isn't afraid to yell at me when I'm being impossible, which honestly, I can't help but respect. It means they aren't treating me like a kid, like the way Helen Keller was treated by her parents at first – allowed to get away with everything, out of fucking _pity_.

Christ, just the thought makes me boil. It's what I _don't_ fucking want and absolutely can't stand – people with fucking pity in their eyes. It makes me insane, possibly because, as they say, the thing you hate and find least tolerable in others is the thing you recognize in yourself ... meaning ... I've got well enough self pity to go around as it stands, folks. I can't bloody take it in anyone else.

* * *

"What happened ?" I ask my sister, whose name, I've finally mastered - "Effy"- is somehow the short form for her real name, Elizabeth.

She stops and puts the book down.

"Fuck off, Tony."

"Why can't you just tell me what happened ?" is what I mean to say, which, in my agitated state, comes out:

"Sell me happen !"

She stands quickly and shouts.

"You know what happened ! You were run over by a bus, arsehole ! Right in front of my eyes, okay?"

"How ? Why !"

"I thought you were dead ! Blood everywhere ! And _I_ had to call the ambulance, and _I_ tell mum and dad !" She shrieks, then bursts into tears, and mutters bitterly, "happy, now ?" as she storms from the room.

Passing her in the hallway comes the blonde gay kid.

"What happened ?" he asks me.

I don't respond for a minute. I feel guilty over upsetting this girl who cares about me, who must love me, in fact, who had to witness her big brother getting creamed in the street, but at the same time, I have a right to know specifics of the event leading to my being in the predicament I'm in, from the one person who was there, without it becoming a huge scene. Why does she never consider how _I_ might feel about it ? How I'm desperate to understand that day, that moment that has irrevocably changed my life, probably forever ?

"She ..." I pause, searching for words ... "I plant ..., no, no, I _ask_, I _ask_ about it – the bay, that _day_, the ... the wall, no, the _bus_, fucking _bus_, and she freaks."

He sits back.

"What do you wanna know about it, Tone ? What haven't they told you ?"

"Tone?"

He smiles. He nods.

"Tone – it's short for 'Tony', just a nickname."

"Is that what car – plant - no ! What _people_ – what _people_ called me ?"

He nods again.

"Called you and still call you. Anyway, I'll tell you what I know about it, if you want."

"Yes."

"You were talking on your mobile, to Michelle, your girlfriend – the curly haired brunette-"

"-Duz ... dozen ... _Doesn't _visit."

"Huh? She doesn't visit ? Really? Are you sure ?"

"_Yes_," I snap, indignant. "Why would I not glove ? ... _No _! _Sure_ ! _Why would I not be sure_ ?"

He holds out his hand.

"Take it easy, mate. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just, I assumed she was here all the time."

I shake my head.

"No. Been weeks."

He takes a breath and looks shocked.

"Wow. Sorry. I think she's just, y'know ..."

"What blue – what does - What does it _matter_ ? Don't even know her." I look at him. "Don't even know _you_."

He grins.

"I'm Maxxie."

"Gay."

He laughs.

"Yes."

"Okay Maxxie. Tell me."

He proceeds to explain that I had been talking to my girlfriend and apparently couldn't get a good signal on my mobile, so in a move of catastrophic stupidity, I walked right into the middle of the street, at nighttime, not a well lit street, and proceeded to be plowed into, head on, by a city bus. Effy, who was sitting in a nearby car, saw the whole thing and came running and screaming and was understandably traumatized by the whole experience.

"So who was I?"

"What do you mean, Tone?"

"Who was 'Tone'?"

He looks a bit disturbed by my question.

"Who _is_ Tone, you mean. You're the same guy."

I laugh bitterly.

"_Fuck you._ _Don't_ fucking bike ... pike ... _want_ you here if you're gonna bullshit me, Mark !"

"_Maxxie_."

"Tell me the truth !" I snap. "Or leave ! Who was I ?"

He looks uneasy.

"Alright, alright ... Look, you were ... you were sorta, I don't know what other word to use, Tony; unique, special. Top man."

He pauses.

"The _truth_."

"I'm telling you the truth, arsehole ! You were first in your fucking class, pretty much your whole life. Dead smart. Devious."

He pauses again.

"_More_."

He clears his throat.

"You could sing – still can, I'm sure. Good enough to be in a choir. You were a bit of a health nut – you ate well, you exercised and lifted weights, you liked tai chi – the traditional Chinese slow movement thing. You read tons – nothing ordinary; difficult shit. You were really well spoken. You like, had girls, constantly."

"Girls ? Michelle ?"

"Her and tons beside. You fucked around on her all the time. You weren't very nice. Like I said, devious. Manipulative, I guess would be the word."

"But ... I walk – park - _had_ friends. I had friends."

"Whom you treated like shit. Your best friend, your girlfriend, me."

"You ?"

"Yes."

"What stick – no! What do I did ? _What did I do ?_"

"It doesn't matter, Tone."

"Matters to me !"

He fidgets a beat.

"Look, you were just a bit of a cunt, okay ? Let's leave it at that."

_Fuck_, these people who feel they somehow have a right to keep information about me _from_ me ?

_"No ! Tell me !"_

"Okay, okay, _christ_. Thing is ... how can I put this ? You sorta liked to control people and fuck with their heads, okay? But you were very cunning and smooth about it, very charming." He laughs. "You were a real fucker."

I'm astonished over all that I'm hearing. Also a bit horrified.

"But ... why ?"

He shrugs.

"Power trip, I guess. Remember what I told you the other day, but you didn't believe me - you're one of those people with a hugely high IQ – this is documented. You could be a fucking scientist, but because your parents aren't rich, you've gone to regular schools which bore the shit out of you cuz you're so bloody far ahead of everyone – that's my theory, anyway. So you cook up these devious little games, just out of sheer boredom, I guess, for entertainment, maybe."

Fuck, absolutely fascinating ! I feel like I want to meet the guy I was. But in a way I'd be too chickenshit.

"You said 'you'. What blue – what do – what did I _do_ to _you_ ?"

"Nothing," he says too quick and nervous. So then I _have_ to know.

"_What did I do ?"_

"Tony, it's not ... it's not, it's not a big deal." He reaches for the book. "Why don't we get to your word drills - I don't have a lot of time today-"

"-Fucking black me - _tell_ me, arsehole !"

"It was a long time ago, Tony ! It doesn't matter !"

"_Matters to ME !"_

He looks at me, sympathetic, but unhappy.

"Tell me. Please. Relay - rely - _relying_ on you to fill in the bags, the _blanks, _Maxxie."

He sighs and looks at me a moment before speaking.

"Okay, okay, but look, I don't want this to like, freak you out or anything, right ? It was just a one time thing – bear that in mind. Here's the deal." Big sigh. "We were on a class trip, and at one point, even though you're completely straight, you were bored, and ... you sort of like ... took advantage of me, or tried to, when I was a bit drunk."

I squint.

"Huh ?"

"Sexually."

I look at him, stunned, convinced I've misunderstood.

"Don't under ... understand."

"You initiated sex, Tone."

I'm absolutely floored.

"Sex ?"

"Yes."

"_With you ?"_

"Yes, but-"

"_-We sex ? We had sex ?"_

"No, not exactly. You tried to-"

"-Am I goo – _gay _?", I blurt, in a panic.

"_No_, like I said, you're completely straight, Tony, I promise. You were just ... fucking around. You _liked_ to fuck with people. That's what it was about. Nothing more."

I sit back, astonished, horrified, fascinated to hear of my former wicked self.

"People know ?"

"Did people find out about it, you mean?"

I nod.

"Ya," he answers.

"Michelle ?"

"Ya."

"What happened ?"

He looks down. He fidgets a beat.

"Well, um, I'm sorry to say it, um, was sort of instrumental in you and Michelle splitting up. Sort of like a last straw, as far as she was concerned."

I look off for a minute pondering this. I don't know why, but, even though I feel basically nothing for the girl, it still sort of hurts.

He looks at me with agitated concern.

"But then you two were heading towards getting back together."

I look at him, oddly hopeful to hear of a nice ending to this story even though it feels, in every way, as if it happened to someone else.

"So did we ?"

His face falls. He clears his throat.

"No."

"Why ?"

"Cuz - the accident happened." He sighs. "Bad timing."

I sit back, feeling genuinely depressed.

"Why don't we talk about something else, Tone ?"

I ignore him.

"People know ... what I was ... about ?"

He looks at me.

"Sometimes. Sometimes not."

"You ?"

"Ya, I knew."

"So then high ... how ... the sex ? What happened ? Tell me."

"It was nothing, Tone. I promise you - it was over before it started."

_"Tell me !"_ I snap. "The _truth_, fucker ! And _stop_ making me fucking _beg_ !"

He speaks carefully. He seems uncomfortable.

"Fuck's sake, _okay_. It was just ... were were in Russia. We were sharing a room and ... I was drunk. I was stressed out and upset. My best friend had just sort of dumped me out of the blue for being gay, and when I walked in the room and told you that ... it was just part of the power trip thing, Tone. The control thing. It's sort of what you were about."

"_What_ was ? What did I do ?"

He forces a nervous smile.

"You fucking offered me head, to quote unquote, make me feel better. To try something new."

I squint. Slang terms are still mostly a foreign language to me.

"Head ?"

Big sigh.

"That's a blowjob, Tone."

My eyes widen in horror.

"I didn't actually-?"

"Well - I mean, not really. You tried it for a few seconds, but it fell apart pretty quick."

My mouth hangs open.

"I _did_ ?"

He speaks quickly.

"It's not a big deal, Tone, I swear. It was _nothing_. You were just fucking around - doing your power trip thing. Like I said, _totally _over before it started."

I look off, freaked at first, a bit scared even, over this, over all that I've been hearing.

"So then, why does people, why _do_ people visit ? If I was such a plant – _cunt_ ? Why do _you_ ?"

He shrugs.

"I care."


	2. In All His Forms

**I _do_ care.**

Yes, Tony was a motherfucker but christ - look at him now. Six foot four and 10 stone - the weakness and weight loss inevitable when you're being fed through a tube for half a year. But mostly it's the struggle - watching this formerly cunning, daring, charismatic alpha male reduced to an alternately sobbing, raging mess half the time ... but more and more these days, like when he snaps at you and makes demands, you get glimpses of the old Tony, which is both amazing and also a bit annoying. One did hope he would come back all the way, of course ... only with maybe a slightly different personality.

Still, watching, and even participating in his progress has been pretty fucking mind blowing to say the least; exhilarating, even. I'm imagining it's what it's like to raise a child - only in that case, the stumblings over language and making sense of basic things is understandable. In Tony's, it's just sad. And for that reason I guess I understand why Michelle and Sid have stopped coming - they who loved him like family - cuz in a way it's unbearable to watch, too fucking upsetting to not, for example, be recognized, for him to remember zero - nothing - of the many things once shared.

Still though, it makes my blood boil. Ya, I wasn't Tony's closest mate but he _was_ a friend and any idiot can see he's in desperate need of support and connection. And since when do you abandon loved ones when they're desperate ?

Good thing is, the doctors say he has a better than average chance of coming back most, if not all of the way, but they stress that they can't guarantee anything and so don't wanna raise expectations too much. In Tony's favor is that he's young and strong, despite the beating he's taken, and more importantly, is highly intelligent, which we're told means his brain would have had maybe twice the usage of the average 17 year old's, and therefore, like a strong muscle versus an atrophied one, has a far greater chance of self repair.

* * *

I'm horny sometimes - _that's_ suddenly come roaring back, which is just torture, cuz what good does it do me when my cock doesn't work ? Yes, I've tried - Sid, that's his name, the supposed best mate who hasn't visited in weeks, slipped me a girly mag when I last saw him, at my request - something called Asian Fanny Fun which wouldn't have been my first choice but that was all he had, and ... it's done nothing for me.

It's tricky, cuz I have so little private time, but I managed to rub myself a bit - it's awkward, the fine motor skills are miles off, and after five depressingly unresponsive minutes I finally gave up and won't be trying that again, thank you. Who wants his own impotence confirmed ?

I even asked the doc one time, while the nurse was right there, just blurted it - one advantage to being mental is that people don't hold it against you when you're rude or blunt, almost like having Tourette's, so I just came out with it - when can I fuck again ?

"We'll see," was his lameass response, exactly as I expected, so I pressed him further.

"Why can't my dick get hard ?"

He looks at me, all professional.

"It should come, in time, Tony."

I look from him, to the nurse, and back again, unable to help myself.

"So I'll _come_, in time, then ? Come lots ?"

The doc sighs like I've annoyed him. Good. I hope I have. Yes, the bastard did my surgeries, but he rarely visits, has a _shit_ bedside manner, and also never does any of the dirtiest work - only the nurses do - they see me every day round the clock for six long months, dealing with my moods and spastic fits and arse wipings, all as he struts round getting all the glory and the credit.

That, and the fact that the bastard can fuck whenever he wants makes me hate him.

* * *

"How often do you fuck, Maxxie ?"

I can only reply with a surprised laugh.

"Christ, Tone - you are definitely recovering, mate."

"Answer the question - how often ?"

"What business is it of yours ?"

"I just wanna know. I'm frustrated, cuz I can't get it up and I'm afraid it'll last forever."

"Tony, you're still recovering - give it some time."

His face turns beet red.

_"I haven't fucked in six months ! How long have YOU ever gone without ?"_

"All right ! Calm down for fuck's sake! Did you talk to the doctor ?"

"Yes! Fucking bastard won't tell me!"

"Christ, Tone, it's not like he's trying to keep it from you. You're still _recovering_ for fuck's sake. Every day I see more of the old Tony, so I can't imagine it'll be all that much longer. I swear."

He peers in at me.

"Who'll fuck me, though? What girl's gonna wanna be with a _vegetable _?"

"Fuck, will you stop with the melodramatic shit ? You're not a goddamn vegetable !"

It's then that he starts crying. Christ, it's awful.

"I can't even toss off. My hands are like flippers, still. They're no use to me."

I touch his arm.

"It'll be alright, Tone. You're making amazing progress - they tell me all the time. You're getting outta here in two _days_, mate."

He blubbers on.

"What girl'll fuck me ?"

It's so fucking awful. I try to lighten the mood.

"Come on, Tone. You're tall, you're dead good looking. There'll be loads of girls." I smile, to signify that what I'm about to say is a joke, as before the accident, Tony used to ride me endlessly about the gay thing, and I would sometimes tease back, however ... it backfires. "But if not, then I suppose there's always me."

He looks, face red and wet.

_"Fuck you, faggot !"_ he snaps, then shrieks. "Get _outta_ here ! _Get the fuck outta here !"_

Great. Terrific.

* * *

Within the week, he calls.

"Where the fuck've you been ! ? Abandoning me like all the rest of my so-called mates ?"

"Fuck, Tony, I wanted to give you some space to get home and settle in, 'kay? Effy's been filling me in on everything in the meantime. Plus, you raged at me last time I saw you so I didn't think-"

"-_Fuck_ that shit. Get over here. I can't _piss_. Hurry _up,_" he adds, and hangs up.

* * *

When I arrive, I learn right away he's not kidding. They've taken to having him wear pajama bottoms because of the elastic waistband, as it's basically impossible for him to manage a zipper ... but today he's rebelled and worn frigging button fly jeans, this boy with the motor skills of an infant, and won't let Effy near him.

"Stupid shit," I mutter, reaching to pop them open. "How'd you even get these on?"

"None o' your business," he says, and takes himself out for a long, _long_ piss, as I stand aside and turn my head, giving him his privacy.

"Alright," he finally says, "do me up, and don't fucking try anything, gayboy."

Boy, is Tony back.

* * *

But then, that's the thing, because oftentimes, he's not. All through the spring, in fact, it's fucking Jekyll and Hyde, when you never know one day to the next, sometimes one _minute_ to the next, which Tony you're getting. It'll be wide eyed happy boy, really sweet and full of hope over the progress he's making at therapy, and then a second later he'll snarl something so belittling and nasty it makes your toes curl. Then ... he'll burst out sobbing for no reason – over the rain, over the grass ... or ... whenever a bus goes by he'll flinch hard and grab your hand so tight it turns blue, or ... he'll suddenly blurt out loud that he loves you, or later on ... that he's thinking of suicide, or ... that he's dying to taste his own come, or ... that he's Oedipus and might just murder his father ... or, right in front of my mum, that he still can't get it up. And then they'll be times when he'll recite, verbatim, some exceedingly long and difficult passage from fucking Beowulf, or Twelfth Night or Nabokov, or he'll blather on about the intricate details of the third law of quantum physics, or ... he'll recount some filthy, complicated, but perfectly executed three part side splitting joke, or ... it'll be endless graphic quiz time over my sex life – and don't think he's kidding - he's dead fucking serious – he _demands_ answers.

All in all, it's like hanging with a mixture of Stephen Hawking, Jeffrey Dahmer and a perverted, horned out Rain Man.

* * *

By summer, the pattern becomes that Tony, in all his forms, is at my place three days a week, as both our mums are working part time, it's too much for Effy to handle on her own, and since it's summer, I'm off, except for dance class, so I can walk him to therapy.

After one such class, I'm eagerly snogging the new hot boy as we make our way up the lift of my building. With everything that's happened, it's been over a month and I'm in screaming dire need of _cock_. The lift door pops open and we scurry along, giggling and stopping every few feet to snog and grope, and as we round the corner towards my flat which I know to be, for once, blissfully empty ... there, slumped against my door, sits Tony, face pinched in anguish.

I drop to him.

"What happened ?"

Is he hurt? Sick? Or maybe his mum? Effy ?

"What _is_ it, Tone ?"

It's Tuesday – he's supposed to be home. How did he even find his way here ?

His lip quivers.

"I got lost."

He grabs my hand, and turns his face into my neck, sobbing.

"_Where do I fucking live ?"_

* * *

I'm at about 92% verbal, which they say is much better than could reasonably be expected, considering that the hematoma thing still isn't entirely gone, and may or may not decide to disappear.

I have physiotherapy three times a week, as my motor skills are still maddeningly inadequate – I'm at about 60% there, with my hands for some reason lagging far behind, which, despite the fact that they tell me I'm doing amazing, frustrates and infuriates me no end – people are still, for example, having to cut up my food, not only because I can't handle a knife (the one time I tried I nearly lopped off my thumb), but because everything I eat has to either be thrown in the blender or made tiny cuz my bloody swallow reflex is iffy, which let me tell you is something fucking frightening. Twice, in fact, Maxxie's had to do the fucking Heimlich maneuver to dislodge shit from my throat cuz I was fucking choking, as everyone watched, horrified, scared out of their minds, possibly even more than me. Terrifying, and at the same time, incredibly embarrassing, and also, lame. The latter because, after all this time, after _all_ the fucking endless pain and struggle and work both I and the nurses and therapists and my mum and Effy and Maxxie and _everyone's_ put into this Herculean effort to revive me from the near dead ... to have it all go to waste because I choke on a fucking piece of toast would just be ...

Sigh.

* * *

At home, laying round my room in my pants feeling depressed, suddenly out of the blue Michelle's at the front door, looking hot, I have to say, in a small red top and tight jeans.

It's a bit weird, especially since my mum is standing in the doorway being rude to her for never coming round, which is true, and maybe shitty and inexcusable, but still, it's embarrassing having your mum defend you like that - like you're a kid. So ... I cut in and invite her up, thinking ... god knows what I was thinking.

I'd just heard, mind you, that she, my supposed girlfriend, has been on an actual date with Sid, my oh-so best friend, which hurts for any number of reasons, not the least of which being that it signifies these people are moving on, past me, but at the same time ... as with most things on bad days such as these, I sort of can't be all that bothered.

We sit down on opposite sides of the bed, saying nothing. It's awkward, obviously. After a minute she asks me what I remember about "us". I tell her that I actually try not to think about us ... when what I really want to say is, even if I _could_ remember more than I do, which is very little ... what exactly would be the bloody point ? You've moved on, haven't you?

I do at times have these little snippets of memory, in truth, these flashes that hit me out of nowhere, of her and I doing mundane shit - walking to class, watching stupid shows on telly, eating chips. We seem happy enough. You'd think, though, as sex starved a creature as I am these days, that I'd be feeding on memories of fucking this hot girl's brains out, as I apparently quite often did, but in my memory banks there is, sadly, nothing of the kind.

It's like it's all a rumour, in a way - my life. A myth. There was once a very tall boy whom everyone fancied, who was the Top Man wherever he went. Ya, he was a prick, but he was so beloved it didn't matter. He was bright, and gifted, and had a blazingly fantastic future ahead of him, and in the meantime was a sexual dynamo of legendary status.

What a joke.

So anyway, I'm facing away from her, and she seems upset, and then suddenly without warning she whips off her top and unclips her bra, for fuck's sake, the excuse being that I used to tell her all the time that one of her tits was bigger than the other. (Fuck, what a colossal arsehole I was.) And then she fucking asks me to _look._

I know what she's doing - obviously trying to shock my memory into being, but I mean ... talk about awkward ! I turn quickly, then away and tell her she's fine. I'm not about to sit here evaluating her tits ... but she won't fucking leave it. She crawls up from behind and whispers in my ear asking "what we're going to do about it", and then before I know it, we're kissing and she pushes me down on the bed and climbs up, and for a minute I think it's gonna work - for the first time in 8 solid months I feel a sort of semi-tingle down there, especially when she asks me if I _want it_, I mean, fuck! I flip her and we're kissing like mad now, and I'm nervous and excited and fumbling with her zipper ... however my dull, dull hands once again fail me and I can't get the bloody thing down, not even close, so she flips me back, in frustration I'm sure, and completely takes over, sliding her hand directly into my pants and starts stroking something fierce and ... I mean, I know it's supposed to feel good; what she's doing, it's supposed to feel absolutely amazing; the girl's clearly _determined_ this is going to happen, which in itself is scorching ... and I _do_ feel like I want it, genuinely looking forward to it, in fact ... but of course ... the gods are not at all on my side in matters carnal, and so after some effort ... she gives up ... and there I'm left staring at the ceiling, humiliated. I actually hear myself apologize - like it's my fault, and then out of nowhere she slaps me, and starts yelling.

_"Why can't you get better for me ? What were you doing in the middle of the road ? You idiot !"_

Which, really, is so wholly inappropriate and uncalled for, it's sorta ridiculous.

My mum, bless her, hears this exchange, barges in and orders the girl from the house, and I'm not sorry, but at the same time, her coming by did do _some_thing for me. I mean, otherwise, I might still have harboured some stray hope, some distant belief that there maybe _was_ a chance we could get back together, and also ... that I maybe _wasn't_ hopelessly impotent.

* * *

"She did _what_ ?"

I can't _fucking_ believe my ears.

"Whatever, Maxxie. I don't wanna focus on it, okay ?"

"Just tell me what she did."

"She just ... she tried to bring me round, manually, like, and it didn't fucking work. And then she got mad and slapped me and yelled at me for being an idiot with the bus."

I'm livid.

_"Why would she do such a thing ?"_

He shrugs. He's maddeningly okay about this.

"What does it matter ? She's with Sid now. Sid's fuckin' her. They don't, neither of them, wanna be seen with idiot-boy, so-"

"-You arsehole !" I snap. "_You're not an idiot ! _And it's not _you, _anyway ! It's _them_ ! They're absolutely showing what they're made of, _that's_ what this is about !"

"_You're_ the one who told me what a cunt I was back then, Max – can you blame them ?"

"Yes I can fucking blame them !" I shout. "Are you kidding ? All day _long_ I can blame them ! And yes, you were cunt at times, but you _don't_ fucking abandon your _friends_ like this !"

He shouts back.

"But I'm not who I _was, _Max ! I'm not who they _remember_ ! I probably never will be !"

"How many times do I have to tell you, you're in _recovery_ for fuck's sake !"

"I can't even get it up ! I'm actually starting to believe it'll never happen ! Sid at least can fuck her !"

I snap.

"_Chelle's an idiot for going with Sid !"_

He stops.

"Huh ? Why ? You said he was a decent enough kid."

I stop. Fueled in no small part by my growing revulsion and disgust with Sid, with _both_ of them for what they've done, I've become very protective of Tony.

Yes, it's been difficult, to say the least, being his nursemaid at times, being on the receiving end of ragings and fits and vitriol, but there's also been a huge unexpected up side - the privilege of witnessing the bloody story of the century; watching as, bit by bit, a boy wills himself, just through heart, soul and sheer balls, back from two months in comatic limbo, along the way _relearning_ _absolutely_ _everything_ _from scratch,_ including things as primal as eating, shitting, and recognizing one's own family.

Believe me, it is not an experience that leaves you unmoved or unchanged, nor without a sense of awe at the person going through it. If the accident has irreparably altered his life, it's certainly done mine, as well, in many ways, ... including, it has to be admitted, that, much as I've fought it, I've unfortunately developed quite strong feelings for Tony ... affection, fondness, maybe even a harmless crush ...

I won't, of course, let on, which should prove easy, since I've become rather expert at masking my affections for straightboys, when I've had them. Still, while I don't want him suspecting anything, I go ahead and say it, cuz it's true. Also, he's made me promise that no matter what, I won't bullshit him.

"Tone, listen to me. Even in recovery, you're worth _ten_ of him."


	3. Did You, Me?

**I seem to be spending most days with Maxxie this summer**, which is cool. Turns out most of our friends were mutual, and because of the fact that nobody outside of Chris or sometimes Jal ever even occasionally calls to see how I'm doing, let alone visits, being the loyal little shit that he is, Maxxie's decided he's through with the lot of them, and so, outside of his many temporary boyfriends, he and I at this point are pretty much the only friends we each have.

I do feel guilty. Had he simply fucked off like the rest, he'd still have his circle of friends, not to mention a fuck of a lot more of a social life than I can offer, but he doesn't seem to care.

One cool byproduct of this whole thing is that we've become sort of close. Probably inevitable, that. When you see someone at their absolute rock bottom humiliating worst – shitting in trousers and crying like an arsehole and throwing fits and having endless manic screaming rages, all the way through to being there and in fact proving sort of instrumental in that person's recovery of stuff like language and balance, let alone the ability to do something as simple but vital to your recovery, pivotal, really, as simply fucking _laugh ..._ I mean, that's some pretty dramatic shit.

(I do always make sure to tell him he's only stuck around because he's queer, seeing as they're such notorious drama queens.)

* * *

Sometimes I imagine the tables being turned, where it's Maxxie, and not me who had the accident, and I ask myself, or rather, the me I used to be ... what would you have done about it ?

Answer ?

Run like the bloody wind.

* * *

"Tell me when you first knew you were gay."

I groan. We're lazing around my room, bored.

"Surely we've gone over this already ?"

"Nope."

I sigh.

"Well ... whatever. Who cares ?"

"C'mon, Maxxie. I'm curious."

"Why?"

He shrugs.

"Cuz."

I lay back on the bed, raise my knees and cross one leg over another, absently kicking as I talk.

"Okay ... alright. Well, shit, let's see. It's a hundred years ago. Um ... I was maybe, um, 4 or 5-"

_"Four or five ?"_

I look at him, annoyed.

"Ya- so what ?"

"That's a little young, isn't it ?"

"Tony you twat, I'm not talking _sex_, I'm talking _crush, _as in, I had a crush on another boy, a kid in my class; isn't that what you asked me?"

"Ya, ya, but, like ... did you know - did you understand what that meant, though ?"

"Meant ? It didn't mean anything - I just knew I liked him. Like a crush any kid has on another kid, like I'm sure _you_ did on various girls."

"But, I mean ... did you realize it made you, y'know, like, different ?"

I smile.

"Different, or _special_ ? Or perhaps you meant to say 'unique', or 'exceptional' ?"

"Ya," he groans, "all those things."

"I didn't analyze it, Tone, I just enjoyed having my little crush. I was a tiny kid. It was totally innocent."

"Did you tell the kid ?"

"What, that I liked him? No way. I was too shy."

He plops down on the bed next to me. We're both lying face up, hands behind heads. It's rather sweet.

"When did you first realize that being gay was, like, wrong, or whatever, in some people's eyes ?"

I reflect. In a way it's like it was yesterday.

"Well I remember this word 'poof', and 'queer' and 'faggot' suddenly being thrown around at school, and at first I think I just thought they were general insults, like calling someone an idiot, until one day I heard some kids, one of whom was a friend of mine, calling a boy a 'faggot' and in the same breath sneering that he 'liked boys', and wow ... that was pretty huge."

"How old were you ?"

"5 or 6. It was the first time I understood that liking boys - that being found _out_ to be one that liked boys, was 'bad'. Worthy of insult."

"Wow. What did you do ?"

I shrug.

"What _could_ I do ? I mean, I had little girlfriends, female friends and shit, but I realized pretty early on that I never got that funny feeling with them that I would over certain boys, y'know? I had crushes all the time, just never on _girls_. Then later that year, this boy Jason started at school and right away we became best mates. And then pretty soon I had a crush, for some reason I was constantly having them, and one day we were at his house playing and suddenly he asked if I wanted to see his willy-"

He whips his head round.

_"What ? !"_

"Tony, come on. This is completely normal for kids that age - it's not sexual, it's just curiosity. Straights do it, too. Everything we do, you do, in fact."

He smiles.

"'Cept for the buttfucking."

I harrumph.

"Wrong again, I'm afraid."

He waves his hand.

"_Anyway_- I don't wanna friggin know. Go on."

"Okay, well, as I recall, he pulled his down and I did mine and we just _looked_. Totally innocent. I was absolutely fascinated - I'd never seen another cock besides mine."

"Did he know you liked him at this point ?"

I smile.

"I think we liked each other, not that we said or did anything - what would we have known to do, anyway? But then his mum died and he went to live with his Aunt in Sheffield, so that was that."

"Never saw him again ?"

"No."

We stare, contemplating the ceiling.

"You know what annoys me, by the way ? Nobody ever, ever asks hets that question, 'when did you know you were straight', have you ever noticed ?"

He laughs.

"Seriously," I continue. "It's always - 'at one point did you realize your 'sexual preference' ?'"

I let out a shriek causing Tony to jump in place.

_"I fucking hate that phrase ! __Why_ do they always assume gays somehow had any _choice_ in their gayness, if _they_ didn't have any choice in their _straight_ness ? Huh ? Do they _actually_ think we're a different species ? And _then_ there's those incredibly annoying fucking 'ex-gay' arseholes. I swear I'm gonna start a fucking movement for _'ex-straights' ! _Enroll them in advanced flower arranging."

Tony laughs.

"Hair dressing," he offers. "Interior decorating."

"Right ! '_Cocksucking 101 - right this way, folks.' " _

Tony bursts out.

"'Remember in the shower to drop your soap and bend way the fuck over.'"

_"Yes ! 'Intermediate Scrotal Sac' !"_

Tony grabs his stomach and pitches sideways on the bed, shaking away with laughter.

* * *

Maxxie's nuts. A good kid, but nuts. Subtle but weird, sorta twisted sense of humour, which is so funny and cool. Sometimes he'll say shit that'll sit there lingering in the air and I won't see it, won't hear it, the joke, for like 5 whole minutes, then when I do, it's brilliant.

He's certainly got odd fuckin' tastes, but I suppose that's the arty/poof in him. For example, old glam rock. Bowie, Bolan, what is that band - Slade ? Or is it Sweet ? No, it's _The_ Sweet, he'll say, all uppity and annoyed. Anyway, stuff's 35 goddam years old and he blasts it like it's the latest club mix, swirling round the room shamelessly like a fairy, I tell him.

Fucker's got a lot going for him, though, just naturally, that's what kills me. Looks, for starters, I'll admit. He's somehow in possession of a permanent year round tan, for example - how's that ? Still can't figure it. 'You're English!' I'll yell at him. 'It's impossible!' Me, I was born pale as a motherfucking snowman.

His hair is a whole other topic, Jesus knows. He works on it - don't let him tell you otherwise - like a frigging supermodel. Bleach and straighteners and all sorts of toxic goop and glop. He and Effy will be standing side by side in the mirror, elbows bumping, fighting for space. He even did mine once - can't believe I let him, with the end result being what I can only describe as 'early Freddie Mercury'. Maxxie says he's torn between that era Freddie, and his later, Live Aid incarnation. First time he said it I almost expired on the spot - I mean, that _mustache_ ?

* * *

Check out his sketch pad; tons of amazing shit - his family, mine, (and then the half dozen or so of me - _damn_ I am handsome.) He likes faces, especially, and landscapes and the river and the old lady on the bench and the view out his window, and stuff in his room, and ordinary shit, like the toaster. _Then_ take a gander at that secret _special_ pad he keeps hidden - the one I'm sort of proud to say he's only ever shown _me_, which contains numerous rather graphic and oddly beautiful drawings of the naked male form. Balls. He's big on balls. And long, slender cocks. Also very detailed renderings of musculature; pecs, abs, biceps, thighs, broad ripply backs, and of course, freakishly perfect bubble-butts. Lately his drawings are less muscle-oriented though, with leaner and smoother torsos. He refuses to tell me who any of these blokes are, or if they're simply figments of his overactive masturbatory imagination.

* * *

Incredible to think he's been bashed - a coupla times, in fact. He says it's just the reality of being out and gay. It's certainly made me appreciate what balls you have to have to be queer. Seriously. Simple shit people take for granted like holding the hand of the person you fuck. Amazing.

At times I look at him and think, I swear, were anyone to lay a hand on the bleach blonde little shit, no question, I'd kill. I've become very protective in that way. It's a bit weird.

* * *

Let me tell you, he's pretty fucking sex obsessed, for a boy who can't screw.

This makes perfect sense, though, doesn't it ? When you're denied something for months on end, something this primal and of _this_ magnitude to the average teenage boy ...

The weird thing about it is, he claims to remember nothing of any of the sensations, either, up to and including orgasm, the thought of which makes me sort of _ill_. It's the memory, the _sense memory_ as I believe actors call it, of the incredibly intense sensations that constitute orgasm that drives us all towards it, over and over, is it not ? The root of what compels us to begin with, all of us, to do things such as grooming and educating ourselves and competing for good jobs – so we can attract a mate, and fucking well _mate_. Otherwise we maybe wouldn't bother.

(Of course, in addition to the kazillions of straights who use birth control, there are many of us who go about the act despite the fact that our method of achieving orgasm has yet to produce a baby ... )

* * *

"Tell me about your first time."

I groan. It's after midnite. We're laying about the couch repeatedly falling asleep watching nature documentaries.

"Fuck's sake Tone, it's late. Fuck off and go home, already."

He shoves against me, nudging my lids open.

"Come on. I'm curious. You've told me about all your bloody boyfriends."

"There hasn't been that many."

"Like, I think a dozen is a lot, Max."

"Not when you look like I do."

He laughs.

"Prick."

"Tony, I told you, you arsehole – every boy I've slept with - and it _hasn't_ been a dozen, hasn't actually been a _boyfriend_. Has every girl you've been with ...?" I stop myself, and look at him. "Sorry."

His grin disappears. He looks from me to the telly.

"Tone, I'm _sorry_. I _forget_. I'm fucking tired."

"You forget a lot. I'm getting a little sick of it."

"Well, that's cuz you're sort of more and more like the old Tony these days." I smile. "So much so that it's like the two of you are finally _merging_, so I sometimes actually forget what happened."

He looks at me.

"Merging. Is that a good thing or a bad thing ?"

"A good thing, tosser," I respond immediately, nodding away ... even though I'm actually rather torn up about it.

* * *

"Who are you writing to ?"

He's standing over my shoulder peering in at my computer screen, which I then cover with my hands.

"None of your fucking business, perhaps ?"

"Must be a boy, then. Is he hot ?"

"Fuck off. It's my uncle, 'kay ?"

He groans and plops down backward on the bed.

"You're supposed to be _baby_sitting me, Max, and yet here I am, bored out of my stupid, brain damaged skull. Doc says I need _stimulation_. Entertain me, already."

"Tony, I've been entertaining you for 4 hours," I say, typing away. "I made you lunch, then we watched cartoons, ran through your exercises, finished off an entire plate of mum's biscuits, then we went to the store."

"_None_ of which constitutes enter_tain_ment."

"Shall I take up juggling for you ?" I say, typing still. "Sword swallowing ?"

He points.

"There – _that_ has definite entertainment value. Tell me about cock sucking."

"Right", I say, ignoring him, not getting the reference right away, then I laugh. "Ah, sword swallowing; huh, very funny."

"So tell me."

"Of course. I'm a renowned expert, after all. Teach a course twice a week. You'll have to sign up. It's extremely popular."

He sits up.

"Come on, Max. It'd be sorta cool to hear about, I bet."

I ignore him. By now I'm well used to having my privacy invaded, not invaded, _eliminated_, but the problem is that he's heard all the general stuff. These days he demands _specifics, _and try as I might to cling to the naïve belief that specifics truly do belong to me alone ... I cave, but not before letting out a big, annoyed sigh/groan.

He cackles.

"I know that noise – it's the one that comes immediately before you do what I want."

I turn in my chair, trying to force a frown, but it won't come.

"Yes, it's a well known byproduct of being hit by a bus: _mind control."_

"Mind control is fun !" He laughs.

"What other skills have you gained, I wonder ? Clairvoyance ? The ability to see through clothing ?"

"Maybe bionic hearing." His face lights up like a million watt bulb. "_That would be so cool !_ Watch out, Max. When you fuck your next muscleboy, I might be listening."

I laugh out loud and speak in exaggerated fashion.

_"Yes, well you might be interested to know that my friend Tony is listening to us right now. Hope that's alright. No, he's not anywhere in the room, he's actually two miles from here." _

We both laugh. I turn in my seat to face the computer.

"I just need to get this e-card out to my Uncle Bob cuz it was his birthday yesterday, and I forgot. Then I've got dance, so I'm taking you with me. I'll tell you whatever you wanna know on the way, perv-boy, 'kay ?"

* * *

"So ... what's it like ?"

"In what way, Tony ?"

He shrugs.

"Dunno. Does it, I don't know ... have a taste, or anything ?"

"What, cock ?"

We're moving our way up the sidewalk, the both of us speaking right out loud; oblivious to anyone passing.

"No. Pussy."

"Fuck off, arsehole. Why in hell would you wanna know that ?"

"Why the fuck not ? Remember, Max, as a gayboy, you're an alien species to me. Whole world worth of interesting and strange tidbits to mine."

"Great."

"So ... tell. Taste. Let's start there."

"Christ, this is ridiculous. Okay ... well, I suppose it depends on the circumstances. If it's, say, the two of you in the shower, then it doesn't taste like anything - just nice thick warm manmeat with a nice fat juicy mushroom head on it."

Tony winces. "God. _Yuck_."

I smile, and blather on.

"But if it's a _quickie_ and you've just gotten in the door and ripped his trousers down, it might taste a bit like piss at first."

Tony shudders visibly. "Ech !"

"Just at first, I said ! Don't be such a pussy. It's inevitable- you're putting your mouth right over the piss hole, after all."

"Ahhgghhh - enough ! Don't tell me anymore !"

I stop and look at him.

"But I was just about to describe what a mouthful of _come_ tastes like."

He grimaces and grabs his stomach.

_"No ! Please !"_

I smile, and resume walking.

"Fucking pussy straightboy. Straightboys are complete fucking pussies, did you know that ?"

"No. I was unaware of that fact, Max."

"By the way, do you think pussy tastes like chocolate ? Girls _bleed_ out of their holes, you know."

"Ugh ! _Enough_. Seriously, Max. You're _completely_ turning me off to oral sex, here."

I laugh.

"Ya, I'm _so_ sure. The first girl you bag, Tone, the first one that turns you on so bad you can't _see_, you'll be _diving_ head first into her pants. Guaranteed."

He's silent for a minute as we continue walking.

"Why do we _do_ such fucked up things, Max ? Do you ever think about it ? I mean, it's a little fucking odd, isn't it ?"

I shrug. I smile.

"Eating pussy ? Yes, completely. Sucking cock ? _No_. Fucking amazing having it done, _fucking_ amazing doing it. Plus there's the whole romantic side."

He looks at me like I have three heads.

"Romantic. Right. Cocksucking's real romantic."

"_It is !_ Or, it can be, 'specially if you're in love. Think about it. All the time you're touching and stroking and kissing and everything, you're holding a human organ in your hands ! The only one you _can !_ Making _love_ to an actual organ. That's pretty cool."

He laughs and slowly shakes his head.

"You're _completely_ fucking cracked."

We resume walking. A minute later he's back to it.

"Why do you think I tried it that time ?"

Russia, he means. Christ. It's awkward, even now, remembering it.

"I told you. You were all about pushing limits. It was your _thing_."

"But that was really pretty extreme, right ?"

"Even for you, yes."

"Huh. I wonder if I had some latent attraction to you, or something. Do you think ? Did you, me ?"

I stop. I laugh.

"Christ, Tone !"

"Come on !" He laughs. "Honesty to the point of discomfort - _brutal_ honesty, Max – you promised ! It's my _thing_, now !"

"Christ, I swear sometimes I miss the old arsehole you were. Okay – no way you were attracted to me – you had every single girl in town since you were 13. You had far too much self confidence and bravado to lie about being bi or gay, if you had been. You would've been flaunting it and plowing your way through all of boydom, had you been. No question."

"Okay, okay. _And_ ...?"

"And _no_, I did _not_ fancy you, okay ? You're good looking, but it wasn't the case. Too much of a bastard."

We've reached the door to the dance studio. Still, he can't let it drop.

He shoots me a half grin.

"And _now_ ? Any tinglings in the nether reaches now ?"

I manage a feigned look of disgust, "Piss off," and turn to push open the door before he can see the flush.


	4. The Single Strangest Thing

**In a way**, Maxxie's the weirdest boy I know. Of course, I don't really know anybody else - outside of Effy. True, I have more and more memories these days of hanging with Sid and Chris and Chelle, et al. Things like getting spliffed up at clubs, and such. But those people are long gone from my life, never to return, I'm sure.

Anway, Maxxie. Sometimes I just don't know what he's on about. He'll be babbling a mile a minute, laughing and letting me freely mine his brain on any topic I choose, and then he'll suddenly slam on the brakes and stare at me like a deer in the headlights, with a look that says no amount of waving your hands in front of him will work.

Maybe it's that, with time, the stress of being may main caregiver and nurse is making him mental, and so we're starting to switch places: the less of a nutter I'm becoming, the more he is.

* * *

Mental or no, he's an _amazing_ fucking dancer – it has to be said. He wants to turn pro, and I can totally see it.

Thing that blows me away most is when he throws himself in the air, somehow _tilts_ his body, and then spins round like he's flying. Fuck, I just had no idea how physical, how _athletic_ a thing it was – draining, exhausting; he ends up dripping in flop sweat. Maybe it should be categorized as a sport instead of an 'art'. Well, maybe not. It's _not_ fucking football. It _is_ an art form – spend any time watching, and you'll see. Makes me jealous. Makes me sorta proud of him, too ... as if I had anything to do with it.

The tap dancing's fucking insane as well, but more mathematical, like; weirdly brilliant. He says it works a different part of your brain, that it's more 'rectangular' versus 'oval'. Yup, he's arty.

* * *

I watch the other dancers, and I swear he's the best of the lot. There's just a seamlessness and beauty and grace that sorta takes your breath away, that is so obviously missing from the other performances.

* * *

After a full hour of this I'll be standing there and my head will actually hurt. He'll walk up all matter of fact asking me how it was, and I'll sort of be in a weird space for a minute before I can answer. Like he's from some brilliant other planet populated by an advanced race of geniuses, and I'm just a common fucking arsehole.

* * *

At his place we'll watch the tape of his recent rehearsals – rewind, pause, rewind, pause, Maxxie scribbling away making notes and drawing figures and angles in his sketch pad, then rewind and watch again, til he figures out what tiny movement, to his eyes, is a smidgen off.

Meanwhile I sit there with my mouth fucking hanging open.

* * *

One of the dancers likes him, Maxxie says, or at least, he suspects, and I think I've pegged him – the tall brunette with the dearth of perceivable muscles. _So_ not his type.

Sometimes I'll watch the kid watching Maxxie, which is such a trip, cuz his eyes totally give him away. Total longing and desire. Gotta feel bad for him.

Once I caught the kid giving me the evil eye. Guess he figures since I'm here every time I must be Maxxie's boyfriend. What a hoot. Just to rub it in I grabbed Max's hand as we walked out and to my surprise he held onto it for a minute, but as soon as he realized, he ripped it away and called me an arsehole.

* * *

Maxxie's a catch, that's the thing. Special, like. _Not_ a case where any old bloke will do. I see him over and over getting chatted up, or just eyeing boys in the street and vice versa, and I'll feel this weird _pull_. Hard to describe. I guess it's a form of protectiveness and maybe worry that he'll throw himself away, waste all he's got on the wrong fucking man; some useless tosser who treats him like shit, and I'll absolutely wanna kill the fucker. That part of it seems very real.

* * *

"Ever been in love, Max?"

We're lazing on my bed again, as we do often these days, hands behind heads, knees bent, legs crossed, feet absently kicking.

"Yes."

He turns his head.

"Really? For real?"

"Ya. Felt very real to me. I'm _still_ in love with him, in a way."

"Who ?"

I exhale. I've never talked about it to anyone.

"Nobody you know."

"Somebody from school ?"

"No. He goes to another school, thankfully."

"So ... what happened?"

I feel a wave of emotion - just conjuring his image does it.

I turn to him.

"I don't really wanna talk about it, Tone, if you don't mind. It's not a happy story."

He blinks a minute. He looks concerned.

"Sorry."

We lay there in silence, my misery increasing by the second, before I try to laugh it off.

"Unrequited friggin love."

"Hmm. Ya."

A surge of anger rises ... and then I can't fucking shut up.

"Thing was, we hit it off _so_ fucking well. We had a million things in common. We flirted for ages, and then I _finally_ get up the nerve to tell him, and he _actually_ said he liked me back, which turned out to be complete bullshit. I didn't know it though. This went on for _weeks_ - him pretending he liked me that way, pretending everything was fine, which led me to believe it was, and then I was inviting him over, and he blew me off and got all weird, and then basically told me to fuck off, through a friend."

By the time I stop talking my eyes have filled, which is typical when I think about him, even now. For fuck's sake, though, I don't want to be crying like a pansy in front of Tony. I manage to run my hands across my face subtly as I can – though I'm not fooling anyone.

"Sorry," I sniff, "I'm such a useless twat."

"No you're not. Shut up."

More tears spill.

_"Yes I am."_

"Maxxie you shit, here's how it is: _you're_ a total catch. _He's_ a total cunt. End of story."

I ponder this a moment, and it's suddenly like someone's opened a window on a warm, breezy summer day. I smile. I turn my head to face him.

"Thanks, Tone. You're a doll."

* * *

"Him, what about _him_, Max ?" he asks, head jerking in the direction of some bloke passing us in the grocery store.

I look.

"Ehh, he's okay."

"Christ, you are picky."

I shrug.

"Men are shallow. He has to be _beautiful_."

"Last guy you were with was no beauty queen."

I whip my head around, semi-insulted.

"Dan ? He was fit ! Wall to wall muscles !"

"Whatever," he snorts, proceeding to push the shopping cart directly into a large, intricately stacked display of dozens of boxes of rice.

"Christ, Tone." I mutter, crouching to begin the pick up. It's not his fault – he still can't make anything near to a fist, so when manning the cart, which he insisted on doing this time, instead of wrapping his hands round the handle to grip it, he pushes against it over and over with his opens palms. Not exactly conducive to bloody _steering_.

Tony walks off to get help. A fellow customer then crouches down to do so, and when we're done, jokes to me that it was shit rice anyway.

I look at him and ... _holy christ_, perfection: tall-ish, nice build, strong jaw, dark eyes, scrumptious head of hair.

Straight, though, I'm betting. Oh well.

"I prefer the real stuff- the Indian stuff, myself," he adds, with a dazzling smile.

"Oh," I blather. "Ya, me too. I try to eat healthy."

"Ya ?" he grins, "health nut ?"

"Well ..." I blush, "not too too much."

"Do you work out ?"

"Um ya, fair bit."

"Me too. Mark's is great."

"Mark's ? That's my gym."

He laughs. Christ, he's even got a gorgeous laugh.

"No kidding. Never seen you there, but I'm only in after 7 – summer jobs suck."

We both laugh.

"Ya, I'm off this summer, so I'm there during the day, mostly."

At this point Tony returns and stands awkwardly by – just a foot from us, making no effort to pretend he's not listening.

"Oh well," Mr Gorgeous says. "I'm Bill, by the way," he says, smiling.

"Maxxie," I respond.

"Sorry ?"

"_Maxxie_", Tony answers, annoyed.

He looks from me to Tony and back.

I force a quick laugh.

"Ignore him - just a friend."

He laughs.

"Okay, well maybe I'll see you at Mark's, then, Maxxie."

"Okay."

"Um," Bill adds, tentative, "maybe we can get coffee, then, or lunch or whatever, after ?"

_Bullseye. _

I nod. I smile. I'm bloody tingling. "Sure. I'd like that."

"Okay, great," he says.

"Great," I nod.

"Great," chimes in Tony.

Bill laughs. "Alright, well, looking forward to it. Bye then, Maxxie."

"Bye, Bill."

I turn, grinning ear to ear.

"Shit," Tony says. "So that's what it's like to be blonde, huh ?"

"Fuck off, nutbar."

"Seriously, Max," he says, handing the cart to me to push. "In the 12 seconds I'm gone you've got a date ?"

I'm practically skipping down the aisle now.

"Yes !"

"How do you know he's even right for you ?"

"Huh? Fuck, Tony, what is wrong with you - look at him !"

"He could be an arsehole or a stalker or an idiot, or something. A murderer."

I rub my hands and cackle.

"Yes, but a highly tasty and _fit_ one." I start singing. "_Cock. Cock is on the horizon."_

"Slut."

I stop and look at him.

"Fuck's sake, Tone, since when are you my mother ? It's just lunch !"

"Ya. '_Lunch_'. You'll be lunching on his _dick_ in the back room."

"You say that like it's a bad thing ! Gyms don't have back rooms by the way ! What is wrong with you, anyway ?"

He holds out his hand.

"Okay, alright. I admit it. I'm ... jealous."

I snort.

"Jealous. Right."

He snaps.

"I mean I'm jealous of how easy it is for you, Maxxie. Pick up somebody you fancy and take 'im home and fuck 'im whenever you want. Christ, I need pussy so bad I'm gonna fucking explode."

"Tony, I am _positive_ you could bag any girl you wanted in this very store. Maybe not in 12 seconds, but, just bump her with the cart, apologize, and make sure her boyfriend's not nearby-" I stop dead. In my giddiness, I've once again completely forgotten. Christ, what a motherfucker I am.

"Can't fucking get it up, Max," he reminds me, bitterly. "So, what exactly would be the point ?"

* * *

A few days later at the gym, which I make damned bloody sure to hit after 7, I spy _Bill_, in the corner, doing leg lifts and squats. My, but he has a beautiful physique.

I grab a towel and walk by, pretending not to have seen him already, and the lovely thing is focusing so intently he doesn't notice me. Even this I find appealing.

I do a quick round of my usual pulley weights and try again – walking by his sightline, careful not to look.

"Maxxie ?"

God I'm good. I whip my head round.

"Oh, hi ! Bill, right ?"

When what I should be saying is: "So nice to see you ! I've been masturbating over thoughts of you all _week_ !"

* * *

Coffee it is, at the little place round the corner, where we discuss our workout routines, a fellow gym member we both sort of dated, and school. He'll be second year at Bristol in the fall, studying chemical physics, for fuck's sake. This, I think to myself, mum will love.

He's polite, well mannered, and seems genuinely interested to hear about my dancing, and even to want to see it. Yay.

After a good 40 minutes or so, we get up to leave, with him apologizing that he has to run to make his night class, and asking if I would care for coffee next time, too. I immediately agree.

I turn and walk, or rather, float the short distance to my building, relieved to see he's not just interested in a quick fuck, though I admit, I would hardly have turned the lad down, had he offered.

* * *

I lunge for my mobile.

"You didn't fuck, then ?"

"No, arsehole. Not every single gay encounter ends with sex."

"Why in hell not ?"

"Fuck off. He seems perfect, Tone. Hot, fit, yet well spoken and polite and rather sweet. Old fashioned, like. Studying chemical physics, so there's that."

"Deadly fucking dull."

"Shut up. He asked to see me again over coffee."

"Fuck, you'll be married soon. Where will I be then ?"

"Probably married yourself. 'cept not to a man."

"No, but considering how brain damage can alter the personality," he chuckles, "one can never know."

* * *

Two post-gym coffees, and three formal dates later, following a heavy kissing session at the movies, we race home to his place, and for the first time, fuck.

Suffice to say that it was _perfect_; hard, hot, fast, deep, breathless. I'm mad for that giddy, post fuck combo of exhaustion/exhilaration.

Yup. Pretty much from this point forward, there's a smile plastered to my face.

* * *

He goes on and frigging _on_ about him, _every_ frigging day ...

_Did you know that Bill can bench press twice my weight ? _

_Oh, listen to this joke Bill told me. _

_Do you know what Bill's grandmother used to say to him when he was little ? _

_Bill really likes Velvet Goldmine. _

_Look ! Bill taught me to make a liver and whey smoothie ! _

Then as if it isn't torture enough, there's all the fucking _chemical_ shit ...

_Wanna know what the chemical compound for salt is ?_

_When Bill was six he had a toy chemistry set - so cute !_

_Bill says once he's a chemist, he might teach, or he might just work in a lab._

_Did you know that Bill's teacher said he had the most natural aptitude for chemistry he's ever seen?_

It's friggin unbearable. First, because of how intensely boring and annoying it is when your friend is giddy all the time, has exactly one topic on his mind, and can't fucking shut up about it. Second ... because the more he goes on, the more it's twisting me up inside, churning up my guts and making me feel, I swear, almost physically ill. Why ?

Fucking jealously !

Come on. How can I _not_ be jealous, when the undivided attention I've enjoyed all these months is suddenly, _completely _fucking divided ?

* * *

_Yes_, I _want_ to be happy for him, of course I fucking do. I keep telling myself that if I was any sort of friend, I would be, yet, increasingly, with each and every mention of the "B" word, I stiffen, and it's becoming more and more difficult to hide.

* * *

"He doesn't dislike you."

He smiles.

"Come on, Maxxie. You can read it in his face."

"Bollocks." I grab for his hand. "It's your imagination."

"I'm taking you away from him. That's how he sees it."

"What are you talking about ? Tony and I are best friends. He wants me to be happy."

He leans in for a quick kiss.

"You're sweet, Maxxie. But you're blind."

* * *

It's pretty weird, this whole impotence thing. And yes, _I've bloody tried_. Many times, now, via both filthy girly mags and, with Maxxie's help as I still can barely work a mouse, the downloading of a few primo porn vids and yet ... nothing. The equation being: persistent and lingering motor skill issues + the buildup of stress and frustration regarding same = chronic flacidity.

I go from hot to cold all the time - constantly. I'll be horned out of my mind one minute, albeit, again, without benefit of erection, then in the next will be so turned off to thoughts of sex that I'm convinced I'll join the monkhood. I'm sort of split down the middle. Exactly what I need now, I chuckle to myself, _multiple personalities_, like the male version of _Sybil ..._

"So what do you think Max ?"

I'm at his flat, as usual, running through my hand and arm exercises.

"'Bout what, Tone?"

"_Me_, you tosser, as a _monk_. Are you even listening ? As a poof, you'll agree the brown robe thing isn't all that appealing, but ..."

"Nor the reverse mohawk ..."

He looks at me, all earnest.

"Tony, you'll get it back; I promise; you _will_. There's no _way_ you won't."

"I don't even wake up hard, Max, like _ever_. Aren't boys in our age group notorious for that ?"

"Not just our age group."

I lift an eyebrow.

"Oh? Which teachers have you fucked, then ?"

"_None. _Fuck _off_."

"Okay, but do _you _?"

"Do I _what_ ?"

"Wake up hard ?"

He shakes his head.

"Not goin' there."

I try a different tack, just to annoy him.

"So how was I, at cock sucking, again ?"

"Fuck off, please."

"No, I wanna know."

He looks at me.

"I told you - you sucked. You were horrid."

And then in an instant I'm doubled over laughing - my sense of humour oftentimes these days being particularly juvenile.

"I sucked at _sucking_ ! Is that what you're saying ? I really _suck_ at _sucking_ ! ?"

He looks at me, annoyed, and then a second later he's grinning.

"_Suction_ just not being the typical straight boy's _thing,_" he spews between giggles. "They really, um _blow_ at it, you could say."

"Totally blew it!"

And then we're both holding our bellies rolling on the floor like frigging idiots, running through and into the ground every single possible bad pun for blowjobs, until we're wiping the moisture from our eyes and sighing with the weariness that only an extended, exceptionally immature silly-fit can bring.

"You're completely fucked, you know that, Tone ? ..."

He then surprises the holy bleeding shit out of me by, out of the clear blue, walking up, kissing me quick and soft on the lips ...

"... Come on, we're having dinner."

... and then turning round to head into the kitchen.

And so I'm left, sitting, staring, rather inordinately stunned ... and it's the single strangest thing in the world.

For the first time in as long as my ailing memory serves, I feel happy.


	5. In Between Them

**I didn't even think.** It was just natural, like the occasions when I've kissed female friends when greeting them. I care about Tony. I love him like a brother - no question.

Ya, he's hot. A blind man can see that. He's even beginning to fill out a bit, after being skinny as a post for ages. And yes, I have definite feelings for him - a crush – how can you not ? But that had nothing to do with it.

Thing is, he acted a bit funny afterwards, and for days, which goes to show in hindsight it was a bad idea.

I'll try and remember.

* * *

Okay ... but what _is_ happy ? Is happy when a switch is inadvertently flipped inside your head and you can't seem to find your way back ? Is it when you suddenly find yourself nervous, borderline tongue tied, even mildly buzzing whenever your friend is around ?

Or it is _insanity_ ? The brain damage talking, or perhaps an unfortunate byproduct of sheer sexual starvation ? I mean, men in prisons turn to each other out of desperation, right?

_What exactly am I saying, here ? _

All I know is, I'm in some sort of an inexplicable tizzy, and it's freaking me out _bad_. Worst thing is, he can tell something's up, cuz he keeps asking me what's wrong and I don't know what the fuck to say. What do you say ? 'Wow, Maxxie, you have incredibly soft lips, can you do that again ?'

* * *

To my horror, as the days pass, it actually gets worse. Lots. I mean, try and imagine the intensely disturbing realization that you're fucking _day_dreaming about your friend's dance moves, that you're hanging on his every word, staring at him a little too long, laughing too hard at his jokes, and then shit like what happened when Effy dropped me off at therapy that time. When he came by later to collect me, from a distance I was completely blown back, _ludicrous _as it sounds, by the fucking colour of his eyes ! ! Which suddenly were to me of some rare and magnificent hue, apparently, as I actually had to stop myself from turning to the nurse to say, _'do you see that, too ?'_ All of which then rendered me incapable of riding him like I always do, and lobbing the usual insults.

* * *

Sweet christ, it was fucked.

* * *

Arguing on the pro side:

Maxxie's got bucketloads going for him and really is a genuine catch. Between his natural gifts for dancing and drawing, his conversational arts and quirky tastes and sense of humor, his toughness and coolness and sheer smarts and then stuff like his total loyalty and devotion in friendship, and what that says about him as a person, plus the added bonus of his looks - I mean the kid _is_ fit ...

1. He's not a bad person to fall for, then, is he ?

and

2. Given how close we've become, it's maybe weirdly inevitable, is it not ?

* * *

Arguing _very_ loud on the con side:

_BUT ... YOU'RE ... STRAIGHT !_

_FOR FUCK'S SAKE ! !_

* * *

So for days, yes, I was mightily twisted up. Couldn't sleep, couldn't bloody think straight, absolutely bloody ridiculous. Then Effy's even asking me what's up ... as if I could possibly explain it or admit to it in a million years.

And so, seeing as I have more than enough problems in my life as it is, thank you ... in figuring out this freakass bizarro apparent crush thing, which didn't so much pass, as be forcibly extinguished (though not, I found, all that easily or successfully) ... I chalked it up to it maybe being a version of that thing that exists in nature called, I believe, 'imprinting', in which freshly hatched baby chicks latch onto the first living thing they see, which in nearly all cases, is of course, their mother, but in some rare cases ends up being instead the family poodle, or a nearby deer or chipmunk, or whatever.

Point being, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that waking from coma is like being born. You're a completely clean slate learning everything from scratch; incredibly impressionable, like a newborn. And after I awoke, the first person to make the clearest and strongest impression of all, by far, was, unquestionably, Maxxie.

* * *

"No!" he whines as I pull out the dvd for all time my favorite film, _Velvet Goldmine_. "No glam rock ! Something else !"

"Come on, Tone ! I've had a _shit_ day ! I need my Curt fix !" ('Curt' being Curt Wild, the film's tribute to completely, gloriously, slithering naked manhood.) "At least let's watch the highlights !"

"_Fuck's_ sake," Tony mutters, as I pop the disc into the player. "Haven't we seen his penis _enough _?"

"I know you actually like the film, Tone. You always pretend you hate it, then you sit there, enraptured."

"Right," he snorts.

"You _do_. Don't be such a brat. After, we'll watch your video game thing, or X-men or whatever. Promise."

"Clash of the Titans is _not_ a video game!"

"Whatever," I whisper, rolling my eyes and plopping down next to him on the couch.

He gets right up and begins walking away.

"Where are you going ?"

"Chips – bloody _chips_ !"

* * *

After the amazing press conference scene, in the midst of which the very straight Curt publicly snogs the very pretty and very bi Brian Slade ... out of the blue he asks me,

"Have you ever been with a straight guy ?"

I look at him.

"Wow," I laugh. "A _new_ sex question ! I thought you'd asked me every single possible one ! "

"Shut up, tosser. Answer the question."

"Why in fuck _should_ I ? Answer _that_."

He shrugs.

"Cuz. Curious. The guy in the film, he's straight, right ? Yet he falls for the fairy queen, and they actually have _sex_."

"Not that we get to _see_ it," I grumble.

"_Ya ya_ - christ, whatever. Answer the question: Have you ?"

"Ya," I shrug. "I have. A couple."'

An eyebrow arches.

"A couple ? Like a threesome ?"

"No shithead," I laugh. "I meant -"

"-You and two straight guys at the same time? Cuz that would be sorta-"

"-Sorta what ?"

He shrugs.

"I don't know. Unprecedented ? But then, who knows what you pervy queers get up to."

"Go fuck yourself, Tone. We have mind splittingly great sex and I'm sure there's rarely more than two of us at a time, except in porn, and anyway, it doesn't interest me."

"Okay, whatever, but ... so you were with somebody straight ?"

"Yes, Tony. I don't think it's all that uncommon at our age."

"It's not ?"

"No. I mean, this was last year – me and this kid were both 16. Sometimes people are still figuring themselves out."

"Well but ... the two guys – how in fuck do you know, I mean, what the fuck makes you think they were even straight to begin with ? Versus just maybe closeted ?"

"Okay, one of 'em was Josh Miller, who you probably don't remember, but he was a pretty big deal at our school; big football player who went for years with fucking Sienna Spiggot-Smith, the head girl at the posh school – huge tits, totally fake by the way, but she was top of everyone's list."

"Okay, but so how the fuck'd he end up with _you_, then ? Sick of the spiggot ?"

"Ha ha. No, it was just ..." I sit back and reflect. "We sat side by side in English, which he was horrid at, of course, and he was always insulting me and calling me 'shirt lifter' and 'poofy' and shit, and then we had to do an assignment together for fucking Canterbury Tales, a huge report which took weeks, and to my surprise outside of school he actually had somewhat of a likable personality, it was really easy to make him laugh, and one time we stayed late to finish it – we were in study hall, and the whole time he was teasing me and then out of the clear blue he just leaned over and kissed me. Almost fell off my bloody chair."

"Jesus. So what happened ?"

"I don't know, we just ... it was so _shocking_ – this kid had every girl in that school. He was notorious."

"Huh."

"It took a minute for it to register, but by then he'd clamped his hand over my crotch."

"Jesus !"

"Seriously ! Which was rather presumptuous of him, I felt, but that's _always_ the way with straights. Annoys the shit out of me, actually. They get all nervous – 'ya I'll work alongside him', 'I'll play sports with him', or whatever, 'I just don't want him checking out my arse.'"

Tony bursts out laughing.

"You know what ? _Fuck you,_ het-boy, for thinking simply cuz you're _male_, that _all_ gay guys will automatically want you. What makes them think we're _that_ indiscriminate, firstly, that literally _any_ male, no matter how ugly or stupid or how much of an arsehole he is, is _hot_ to us ! I mean, fuck !"

Tony continues laughing but nods his head in agreement.

"Ya- totally right ! Never thought of that. So, but did you fancy him ?"

"Well ... yes. Totally. Talk about _muscles_."

We laugh.

"So what happened ?"

"Oh ... well we gave each other a quick wank, and that was it, really."

"Wow, okay. Shit, that's amazing. A straight guy wanting to wank you, though?"

I grin.

"I'm hot."

Tony laughs.

"But _still_."

I shrug.

"I know, Tone. What can I say ? It's not like we sat down and discussed his motivations. I'm sure he was just curious, or whatever. Some people are."

"Okay, but so, afterwards ...?"

"It was awkward. We never said a word about it, and nothing else happened, and that was that."

"Did you finish the project at least ?"

"_I_ finished it. He was too much of an idiot."

We laugh. He shifts in his seat.

"Okay, but ... what if ... what if he'd decided he _liked_ you, and shit. What if it triggered something in him?"

"What about it ?"

"I mean, would you have, y'know, gone with him ?"

"Had sex with him, you mean, or gone out ?"

"No. Just ... gone out."

"I don't know. Maybe. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, though, and that's always a turnoff."

"You like brains ?"

I laugh.

"Why do I feel sort of insulted here ? Yes, Tony."

"More than muscles, though ?"

"Well ... shit, I mean ... all I know is, when I'm horny, I want is muscles. When I'm lonely for a boyfriend, I guess it's brains."

"So brains trump muscles, ultimately."

I shrug.

"I guess. Ya. Of course, the _ultimate_ would be the beautiful, talented genius with the ripping bod, but I don't know how many o' those are running around."

He laughs. I take the dvd player off pause, but he won't shut up.

"Okay, could he, the guy, still be straight, but be attracted to you in some small way, or just not sure what the hell's going on ? I mean, it might be _nothing_, but then what if it's _something ?_"

I mash my thumb down on the pause button.

_"Huh ?"_

"Y'know, like ... what if you kissed him, but you didn't mean anything by it, and meanwhile the guy's afraid he might've got something out of it cuz he felt a tingle afterwards, and maybe he thought about it for days, like. Would that make him gay ?"

I squint.

"Christ, Tone. What the fuck are you on about ? How should I know ? It depends. Maybe. Maybe not. It might just make him bi. Or it might be nothing. Again, some people are curious, or unsure of themselves, still trying to figure themselves out, and shit. Me, I've always known I'm gay - since I was little."

He looks at me a moment, then nods.

"Huh. Okay."

"So ... back to the movie, then, or do you have any more weirdo hypothetical sexual scenarios you wanna run by me ?"

* * *

Three further weeks down the road with Bill, and I'm convinced I've struck gold. After the evening's second spectacularly satisfying fuck, we collapse in a heap onto his bed.

I turn. I kiss him.

"You're amazing, you know that ?"

I lean for his lips again, when I hear it - my mobile ringing. Who on earth is calling me at two in the morning ? ?

I go to move, then stop. Fuck it. I can call whoever it is back.

"Maxxie, get it. What if it's important ?"

I groan and lunge for my trousers, pull it from the pocket, and throw it open against my face.

"Hello ?"

"'S'me," Tony says, all nonchalant. "Watching Velvet Goldmine. What does it mean when he says the thing about meaning being in between things ?"

_"Huh ?"_

"Remember ? Wait, got it on pause; lemme look. It says 'meaning isn't in things, but in between them'.

"Tony, it's two in the morning."

"I know, tosser. That's not why I called. Effy's sick, and since mum's away, you'll have to bring me to therapy."

I slump. I really had wanted the day off.

"When ?"

"In like, 5 hours. It's the early one. 7am."

"What about your dad ?"

"He's halfway to work, then Max. Every day at that time. Obviously you've forgotten this."

I climb back into bed - it's a bit drafty out here with no clothes.

"Okay."

"So what's it mean ?"

I briefly look at Bill. This is more than a little awkward.

"What, Tone ?"

"The thing about _meaning_, Max. Remember ? Velvet Goldmine ?"

"Oh. Right."

"Is that Oscar Wilde ?"

"No. No, that was um, Norman O. Brown, I believe."

"Who ?"

"He was a professor, philosopher guy. He wrote books on eroticism, I think."

"Huh. Okay, well thanks. Don't forget to collect me."

"I won't."

"Alright. You can go back to fucking now," he says, and hangs up.

I look at the phone in disbelief.

"How did he know ?"

"Know what?" Bill asks.

"That we just fucked."

He pulls me up, so that I'm laying against his chest.

"He's got a sixth sense about you."

I nod.

"Ya."

* * *

The following week, I'm gripping the headboard and squealing into the night air as I am plowed, good and fierce. We come within seconds of each other and fall wearily to the mattress.

"That," I pant, breathless. "_That's_ what I want him to experience."

"Huh ?" he kisses my ear. "What are you talking about ?"

"_Tony_, Bill. He hasn't had an orgasm in a year. He says he can't even remember what it feels like. Tragic. Can you imagine ? So awful."

He rolls onto his back.

"I can't fucking believe this."

"What?"

He looks at me.

"What do you mean, 'what?' _I can't believe you keep bringing Tony into the bed with us_, _that's_ what."

"Bill, I just-"

He stands.

"-You just what ? Maxxie, I swear to god, I pummel you for a solid half hour, you come like an absolute maniac, and then the _very_ first thought in your head, the _very_ first thing out of your mouth is about _Tony_ ?"

_Oh my god_. Major, sickeningly inappropriate faux pas. Akin to calling out someone else's name, only maybe worse.

_What is wrong with me ?_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bill. I just ... I didn't think."


	6. If He Isn't

**Two mornings later,** out of the clear blue, it happens.

He's splayed out, as usual, on my couch. As I'm clearing away his collection of leftover empty tins and bags of crisps, I notice it. Gripping a bunched up section of blanket... _is his perfectly formed right fist._

Holy christ!

I'm so shocked, I actually slap him across the face.

"Tony!" I shout.

He bolts upright.

"_What ? ? What is it ? !"_ he says in a groggy panic, apparently assuming the building's on fire.

I point.

"_Your hand ! !"_

He looks. His eyes swell.

"_Fuck ! !"_

Just then, mum rushes into the room.

"What happened? What's wrong ?"

We both look at her.

"Nothing," I blurt.

She approaches and takes Tony's hands and examines them.

"You said something about Tony's hand. What's wrong with it ?"

"_Nothing_," Tony blurts. "Um, it was just ... it was in a weird position – I slept on my hand weird. It hurt a bit; it's fine now."

"Are you sure ?"

"Ya," I answer, adrenaline pumping. _Tony can masturbate ! ! _"Sorry. My fault, mum."

She sighs.

"Okay, then. If you're sure, I'm off." She kisses us both on the cheek and leaves.

Soon as the door's shut we're flying around in a giddy panic.

"_Porn, I need PORN !"_

"_Where is that Asian fanny magazine ?"_

"_At my house !" _

"_Upstairs – my computer !"_

We race there, my heart banging away in my chest.

"Maybe you can use the mouse, now, too."

"_Whatever !_ _Later ! _Just find me pictures of _tits_ !"

I click and hunt, and then he pushes me bodily from the room the moment a suitable selection of images appear.

I stand on the other side, panting with excitement and nerves. This is an absolutely humongous moment in Tony's life – the moment he'd nearly given up on - _getting his sexuality back._

I pace back and forth. Through the door I can just make out the faint but distinct sound of female sexual grunting – he's apparently found a video. Shouldn't be more than a minute, then.

I'm sweating, and as the potential magnitude of it hits, suddenly gripped with piercing anxiety.

_The moment Tony conquers his erectile demons is the moment he's as good as got a girlfriend._

_What difference does it make to you if he's got a girlfriend ? ! _It's what he _wants_. What he _needs _and _deserves and has been dying for for a whole year ! _

I'm happy for him. Truly.

I blink. My pacing quickens. My mouth dries.

_So then why is my gut twisting up like this ? _

* * *

Several minutes along, I hear the squeak of my mattress, meaning he's apparently collapsed backwards onto my bed, following an orgasm of undoubtedly overwhelmingly strength.

I tentatively knock.

"Tone ? Alright ?"

He doesn't answer.

"Tone ? You done ?"

"Yup," is his flat reply. "_Completely_ finished."

I grin, and open the door, and then immediately whip my head to the side. He's laying there with his trousers open, limp cock fully exposed.

"Tony, what the fuck."

His voice cracks.

"Is there something wrong with it, Maxxie ?"

"Huh ? What do you mean ? What happened ?"

"_Nothing_. _Nothing_ fucking happened. That's what happened."

_Oh god, please, no._

His voice breaks.

"Will you please look at it ? You've had loads of cock. Maybe you can tell if there's something wrong."

_God, this is so awful._

"Tony, I'm sure there's nothing-"

"-_Look_ at it for fuck's sake !"

I turn. I approach. It's very, very weird to encounter your best mate's naked cock ... which to my eyes, appears healthy and normal. Handsome, even.

I sit and say it carefully as I can.

"It looks fine, Tone. I'm not seeing anything."

He sniffles.

"Nothing ? Are you absolutely sure ?"

I gulp.

"Yes."

He reaches, tucks himself back behind his zipper, and sits up, by me. He's silent for long moments, staring at the floor, then speaks haltingly.

"I'm done for, Max. Over with. I'm not kidding."

I touch his hand.

"Tony, listen to me. This is a _common_ _problem_; there's loads of help out there- pills, and viagra and shit-"

"-_Can't_. Not with a brain bleed – too risky. Doc said."

I look at him.

"Fuck. I, I didn't know you'd asked." I grip his hand. I look off. "There are sex therapists and stuff. I'll go with you, no problem, Tone. We could go today."

I then feel it, a small vibration in the mattress. I look. His shoulders have slumped forward and his back is shaking away from the sobs.

"_This is so fucking awful; you have no idea. So humiliating. I just wanna fucking die."_

My heart plummets into my gut. I'm desperate for the right words, but can't find them. I lean and hold him, quietly shushing, though he's inconsolable.

"_Why did I even wake up ?"_

From the coma, he means. _God_. I softly rub his back, and start to cry with him – it can't be helped. It's unbearable, seeing him so broken.

"I'm so glad you did." I sniffle. "I love you, Tone. You're my best friend in the whole world."

He doesn't hear me.

"_Haven't I been punished enough ?"_

"Shhh. It was just a mistake, an accident. You're not being punished. I promise."

"_Yes I am,"_ he sobs. _"For what I was. For being such a cunt."_

I throw my arms around him.

"Listen to me Tony; I know you better than anyone on this earth. _You're not who you were, before._ You're _beautiful_. You're _lovely_. You're _brilliant. _I'm _so_ proud to have you as my friend. The guy you were – that isn't you, anymore."

* * *

Whatever impact my words have don't seem to amount to much as for the rest of the day, for the week, in fact, Tony withdraws. Except to ask me to walk him home just afterwards, he says nothing. When Effy inquires about his glumness, I just tell her he's simply feeling depressed, and wants to be left alone, but to please check in on him anyway.

When I return home, I spend the entirety of the rest of the day scouring medical journals, medical dictionaries, patients' blogs and do general online research into brain injuries and impotence, during which I learn of the apparent impossibility of overcoming the latter once a long term pattern has been established, which is precisely the case here.

I roll my chair away from my computer and have a long, back shaking bawl, so hard that my sides and belly hurt. It's absolutely unbearable, this feeling of helplessness, hopelessness, the lost, desperate look in his eye. Overcome with depression, rage and sadness, head hammering away in pain, I pop three aspirins and fall to my bed, asleep.

* * *

His voice is flat on the phone, as always, these days.

"I don't care."

"Tony, come on. You've been holed up in your room for weeks. Come to the movies with me."

"Don't want to."

"Listen to me. Effy says you're scaring your mother. She's afraid you're gonna kill yourself."

"I'm _not_ gonna fucking kill myself."

"You'd better be telling me the truth, Tone."

"Fuck you, Maxxie. I wouldn't fucking do that to Effy or my mum. Wish I could, _really_ fucking wish I could, but I won't, okay, arsehole ?"

"God," I laugh, "that's the most you've said in _weeks_."

He doesn't respond.

"Tony—"

"-I gotta go."

"Please, Tone."

"What ?"

"It's me here. I care about you, mate. I love you. We all do. It's so hard to see you like this."

Even through the phone I can feel his shrug.

_"Oh well."_

I feel a sudden surge of anger.

"Don't fucking 'oh well' me, you bastard ! I've been there every step of the way, remember ? It's not the end of the world, y'know ! Sex isn't everything !"

Soon as the trite, howlingly condescending and inappropriate phrase leaves my lips, I cringe in horror.

"Oh _no_ ?" he snaps. _"Fuck you !_ Try going a whole _year_ without, then, understand ? A. whole. fucking. year ! In which you _NEVER_ wank and _NEVER_ come and DON'T have a single bloody musclebound _boyfriend,_ got it ? ! Try _that_ on for size, _fucking_ _cunt ! !_"

The next sound I hear isn't so much a hang up as that of a phone being hurled against a wall.

* * *

When he fails to return my calls over the next three days, I finally stop by.

"Come on, Tone. It's my birthday. Please ?"

"Not in the mood."

"You're _never_ in the mood."

He looks at me.

"I'm depressed, Max."

The simple statement of this fact makes it somehow all the worse. It's absolutely breaking my heart, watching him like this. I reach for his hand, and it washes over me. This realization that, truly, I want him to be happy more than anything in the world.

"Come to the party, Tone. You're my all time best mate. I seriously want you there."

"_Bill_'ll be there. You can hang with bloody _Bill_."

"Tony, stop it. A lot of people will be there, but none of them I want more than you."

He smirks.

"Whatever. Maybe I'll stop by after."

* * *

And so, on the occasion of my 18th birthday, a day I had _so_ long looked forward to, with huge hand rubbing anticipation and eagerness, I'm thrown a party by my parents, cousins, grandparents, uncles and aunts, an ex-boyfriend or two, and Bill, during which I'm given several surprisingly decent gifts (including a new watch, new mobile and my very own laptop) ... however it's not working. Though I try to put on a show so as not to disappoint, inside my heart is drowning in sorrow and worry.

The conclusion is inescapable: That it's a measure of how irrevocably interconnected Tony and I are, and how much I love him, that I truly can't be happy, if he isn't.


	7. The Truth

**Afterwards**, I sit in my room. I should be happily fiddling with my new electronic toys, but instead, sit here blankly staring, holding Bill's hand, waiting for Tony to show, or call.

We don't say much. I'm too frazzled. Finally, he stands.

"I should go. Have to be up really early."

"Oh. Okay."

He cups my cheek.

"I love you, Maxxie."

_Fuck _almighty ! He's never said it before. Wow. I'm waiting for my heart to leap out of my chest. I mean, he's perfect; considerate, sweet, smart, mum loves him, great fuck, bright future, total husband material, and yet ... I feel oddly blank.

Stupidly, instead of listening to the emptiness in my gut, I rush to fill the awkward void.

"I, I love you, too."

He stops. He smiles sadly.

"Come on, Max, at least try and sound convincing."

I scramble.

"I _do _! I'm _sure_ I do, it's just that ... I wasn't expecting you to say it. And I'm ... I'm so torn up over Tony."

He sits, takes my hand and speaks gently.

"Listen. I'm going to be dead honest with you."

I blink. This is a bit scary.

"Okay."

"I _do_ love you, I wouldn't lie about that, but I sort of said it as a test."

"Huh?"

He sighs.

"To see what your reaction would be, because there's something going on here I don't think you even realize."

I look at him.

"What are you talking about, Bill?"

"Let's be honest. You don't love me, Max, at least, not yet. I guess I already knew that. I mean, maybe it'll come with time, but, meanwhile I think I've been a bit of a relief valve for you, a distraction from all the stress of the last year, and I don't even mind that that's the case. But the thing is," he stops, he sighs, "I mean ... I can't really hope for you to fall in love with me when you're already in love with someone else."

I look at him, dumbfounded.

"_What are you talking about ?"_

"You really don't realize it, do you ?"

"Realize _what_ ?"

"Maxxie. You're in love with Tony."

"_Huh_ ? ! Don't be daft."

"I'm _not_. Listen to me. He's _all_ you talk about. He's all you _think_ about. Tonite's a perfect example. He's your whole _life_."

I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"He's my _friend_, Bill, and he almost died in a really horrible way and he's going through something incredibly painful and difficult right now. I can't _help_ but love him and care about him and worry."

"Ya, but I think it's a lot more than that."

I don't know if it's my mood or just embarrassment that my little crush has been more apparent than I thought, or annoyance that he thinks he knows, better than me, how I feel, but something in my head clicks off.

"Well, I don't," I snap.

He snaps back.

"And while we're on the subject of Tony, I'm sorry - I know you care about him, but I have to say this: I _hate_ how he makes you miserable - he seems to know how to do it instinctively. I _hate_ that he's ruined your birthday. Seriously - what kind of a friend is that ?"

"He _hasn't_ – and he's my _best_ friend ! Best one I've ever had !"

"He's taken your whole life away from you, Maxxie, don't you see that ? He's _using_ you. Using you _up,_ until there's nothing left for anyone else."

I stand quickly and shout in his face.

"How dare you talk about him that way ! You don't know a single thing about him ! You have no _idea_ what he's been through ! I _want_ to spend time with him - nobody's had to twist my arm ! Not for a single second !"

"But you're completely wrapped around his little finger, 24/7 ! _'Maxxie do this, Maxxie do that.'_ You're like his fucking _servant !_"

"He doesn't _have_ anyone else !"

"Ya, I wonder fucking why !"

I'm fuming now.

_"_You've _always_ been jealous of him, haven't you ? ! Right from the first moment !"

"_Me_ ? Jealous of _him_ ? Don't you have that backwards ? Or maybe not ! Maybe if I'm jealous it's cuz he's literally _been_ there from the first moment, _standing between us ! Think_ about it - even the _very_ first time I laid eyes on you in the supermarket, he was there !"

"That's only cuz of how close he and I've become !"

"Ya, maybe a little _too_ fucking close ! You even talk about him in bed ! I sometimes seriously wonder if you close your eyes and pretend I'm _him_ !"

_"Fuck you ! That's disgusting ! Get out of here right now !"_

"Fine !" he says, gathering his things. "Just throw everything away over _Tony - _a _straight_ boy ! Why don't you take him to Brighton with you, then !"

"Great idea ! Maybe I will ! You were right, by the way. I _don't_ frigging love you !"

* * *

He slams the door and I'm left here, reeling. Fuck, what on earth just happened ? What did he say ? I can't process it.

_In love with Tony ? _

My brain fires off in a hundred directions.

I love him, I know that. I care about him. Of course I do. I guess I fancy him, but then he's tall and beautiful, (if still too skinny) as well as wickedly funny, dead smart, and overall amazing, so that's perhaps to be expected ...

Does this, _could _this possibly mean I'm in love, though ?

_Could _I be, could I have been all this time and somehow, through everything, not actually _known _it ?

I hunker down in my seat. The thing I should be preoccupied with right now is the abrupt loss of a relationship with what has arguably been Mister Right. I should be doubled over, beside myself with grief, bawling my eyes out and pounding the wall over what is supposed to feel right now like my whole entire world collapsing, and yet ... in a way, it's almost like a relief. So strange. Yes. Like a bloody weight lifted off my shoulders.

Because.

Now I get to spend all my time with Tony.

* * *

It's funny. In a way, he and I are so close it's almost like we're the same person. All of his hurts and anguish are mine. All of his needs, and hopes and tragedies and joys. I die when he's in pain. I'm deliriously giddy when he's happy. We certainly seem to think the same thoughts and finish each other's sentences. That term, 'soul mate' - if there ever was such a thing, he's certainly mine.

So in a way maybe it's almost like an insult, to say I'm in love, cuz in truth ... isn't this way, way beyond that ?

* * *

What is the _point_ ? That's what I keep asking myself. Of _anything_ ? Why does no one ask these questions ?

People snicker about sex being 'dirty' and shit, shameful, or strictly something to joke about and hide from the kids. I guess in my former life I saw it as a tool to gain power.

What people don't understand, those that can have it whenever they want, what _I_ didn't understand, I'm sure, is that there _is_ a purpose to it, that's what all this thinking about it all these months has made me realize.

I'm not talking procreation or recreation or any of that bollocks. I'm talking that it's sort of the root of a relationship, the cement, of a real one, anyway, isn't it ? The beginning. Companionship, partnership, marriage, all that incredibly hokey, cornyass shit. Corny, and yet the _exact_ stuff people wrap their whole lives around; the exact stuff they bet _everything_ on.

Bottom line, no girl is going to wanna be with me if I can't put out, at least eventually, right ? Which rules out one night stand/quickies, but also more serious shit, because ... _why_ would she wanna sacrifice that part of her life and give up the chance of kids and all that ? That's what's killing me. _That's_ how big this is to me.

It's sort of everything.

I see a hot girl on the street and she looks my way and smiles. Invitationally. And then it hits me. I can't have that; it's been taken from me. Worse, sometimes a girl will look and I can sort of tell she knew me before, and what a waste-layer I was. Maybe we even fucked, and now, look at him. Pathetic eunuch-boy. Trust him with your harem.

Christ, I just _so_ want to end it, right here, do you understand?_ Why can't I end it ?_ I _want_ to more than anything in the whole entire world ... which is why it's SO bloody _screamingly_ fucking maddening to know ... that I _can't_.

_I can't do that to Maxxie. _

* * *

When by midnite Tony neither calls, nor shows, I try his mobile, but it goes directly into his voicemail.

When I try Effy, I wake her up, and she informs me with great annoyance that he's asleep and to please fuck immediately off.

* * *

The next morning, following a fitful night's sleep given all that's happened, I stop by his place. For my birthday I've collectively been given the tidy sum of three hundred and fifty pounds, and do indeed intend to spend it by the sea.

"Let's go to Brighton."

He pulls his eyes away from the telly but says nothing.

"A long weekend, Tone. There's loads of cool hotels on the beach, and lots of clubs and restaurants, and shit. There's an old arcade filled with video games and a big movie theater with 3D and surround sound. Clash of the Titans is playing – I checked. Come _on _! We can swim and eat candy floss and get drunk and ride on the scary roller coasters and shit. It's only a little over an hour by train. _Please ?_"

"What about Bill ?" he grunts.

"We ah, we actually split up."

_"What ?_ You're kidding. You were nuts about him. What the hell happened ?"

I fidget.

"We just ... we had a big row last night, and he walked out."

"On your birthday ?"

"Ya."

"Bastard. I never liked him. Over what, though ?"

"Just ... stupid shit. He told me he loved me, and I told him I didn't, and that was that."

He laughs. God. After all this time it's _so_ glorious to see his face animated again, so incredible, I can't tell you. I'm almost singing.

"That's what I've always liked about you, Max. You don't hold anything back. You come right out with it, no matter what – the _truth_."


	8. The Plan

**I'm so weirdly, inappropriately happy**, it's embarrassing.

Since Bill exited the picture, that is.

Okay, not something I'm especially proud of. He was good for Max. He was. He loved him – anyone could see that. Which I knew, and yet I grew to sort of hate him.

So not cool. I mean, what does that say about me ? That I'm becoming more like the old Tony, as Max keeps saying ? Or worse ?

As Max's friend I should've fucking well been happy for him, because Bill was somebody you could see he could get serious with, (which is what he says all the time he wants), being in possession not only of the qualities your mum looks for: polite, well raised, well spoken, smart, no bad habits, even tempered, top marks at school, but also the shit Max looks for: fit, built, funny, great fuck. Christ, the lad even had the romantic side down – he was constantly sending Maxxie _flowers, _for fuck's sake.

And so what could've been the problem ?

Over and over, I would see them together, I would _think_ of them together, and it would ruin my whole fucking day.

* * *

It's the crush talking, obviously. Fucking thing has survived like a bad virus, despite my many attempts to kill it. For a while it was dormant, and therefore easily reasoned with, and ignored. I'd have the occasional flareup, but it would pass. Then Mr Knight in Shining Armour has to fucking come along and sweep Maxxie off his feet, right in front of my eyes, catapulting me back to square one.

_I so don't frigging know what to do._ What can I possibly do ? No amount of wishing it away has worked. No amount of pleading or yelling or pointing out just exactly how exceedingly straight I am.

Worst, most ironic thing of all is that the one person in the world I need desperately to spill my guts to about this ... _can't frigging know. _

* * *

_I just wanna fucking scream. _

* * *

They told me about personality change, that that was a possibility, but this isn't that, is it? Sexuality isn't personality. This is more a byproduct of desperation, I'm sure - starvation. The bubbling up and boiling over of too-long unmet needs getting channeled away from girls, who, for obvious reasons, I don't feel I can approach, to the one person who happens to be around all the time.

But then ... why does it feel so bloody real ?

* * *

I just wanna throw in the towel and fucking well _tell_ him, or I'll go mental, I swear ... but ... I can't. Of course I can't. Not worth risking the whole goddamn friendship. That's what would happen. Maxxie's told me as much – last year there was a kid, a close friend, who suddenly in one impassioned speech confessed his feelings. From that point forward they were kaput. Too tense, too awkward, too uncomfortable and weird.

I can't allow it – not a chance. Not only am I in no position to be friendless, (the old Tony talking), but, to be perfectly blunt, and at the risk of sounding like a complete wanker and dildo, I've come to the conclusion that I sort of couldn't live my life without the little shit, (the new Tony?) or, maybe I could, but ... I'd be dead frigging miserable. We're _that_ tight.

Not, of course, that he'd believe me if I told him, anyway.

"_Sorta got a crush on ya, Max."_

"_Right. Too right. You and half of Bristol."_

"_I'm serious!"_

"_Of course you are! You, who can't shut up about TITS ! Lay off the spliff for fuck's sake, willya ?"_

And even if he _did_ believe me, what then ? It's not like we're gonna _date_. Maxxie and I ? Come on!

Besides, I shouldn't be presumptuous, like he says straight boys always are – _I'm so not his type. _

Phew. Off the hook.

* * *

Bill. There's the answer. Soon as we get back from Brighton I'll bloody get he and Bill back together, and then make an appointment with a shrink. And a sex therapist. And maybe a prostitute.

In the meantime, if I'm honest, it, these feelings, aren't so bad, are they ? I mean, in and of themselves, regardless of the target, they at least make you feel good, and alive, and shit. Happy. That notorious, ridiculous warm/fuzzy love-buzz crap.

_Love ? ! ? _

Christ, I said it.

* * *

Truth. _Truth_, he said. Well there's _one_ truth I sure as hell won't be owning up to. 'I split up with Bill because of you, Tony. Apparently I'm in love.' Ya, right ! How quickly would he fly out the door, never to be seen again ? Too _incredibly_ awkward. Humiliating. He'd never confide in me again. Never feel comfortable, really. It would completely demolish our friendship, and quickly. Not worth the risk.

Brighton. If the fates are at all on my side I will meet someone to make me forget all this. And maybe Tony will, too. That's it. Probably what he's needed all along –_ a real live girl_, _not_ porn, not a magazine or video, _not_ Michelle with all her baggage, but some hot, anonymous babe who _wants cock _and isn't shy about it.

And if his dick fails him again, that'll pretty much be it.

Christ.

* * *

For the remainder of the week and on the train ride there, he's sort of giddy. Only a one million percent turn around to his mood.

Which makes me so happy, it's frightening.

* * *

"Yup. Doin' the Super Booster. Fuck, can't wait," he says, nodding his head, eating from a bag of crisps and getting little salty crumbs all down his front. "Zero to 60 in _3 seconds_, Max, and like a hundred fucking metres in the air ! _Then_ they fling you straight out over the water so you're _dangling_, and shit, and only pull you back at the last possible second, probably pleading for your life. If _that_ doesn't stop the brain bleed, or maybe start it _going_ again, nothing will."

"Sounds dreadful."

His head whips to the side.

I laugh.

"I'm kidding, tosser. Sounds great, particularly if you don't mind vomit flying back in your face."

"No, there will be _no_ vomiting, Max. We're _doing_ this."

"Not that vomit's a bad thing."

"Stop being such a pussy! _No_body's throwing up, Max. Y'know why ? Cuz right _after_, we're doing the log ride splash thing ! Like ten times in a row ! We'll be _soaking fucking wet_ and screaming our stupidass heads off !"

"But my _hair_ ! Loads of expensive _product_ in it !"

He looks at me, then we both burst out laughing. I had him there for a sec.

"Okay," he blathers on. "And we're eating plenty of bad food. _All_ bad food, in fact. Nothing healthy. And swimming, lots of frigging swimming," His face turns serious. "Will I know how, though? Did I swim, before ? _What if I can't swim ?_"

"Tony, you idiot, you had aquatherapy early on, remember ? You were in a pool half the day, for weeks. Besides," I grin, "_bikinis_."

He laughs, he nods.

"Right. Forgot. Bikinis."

"I wanna go to the aquarium." I offer. "And the midway – I want lots of cheezy prizes and stuffed animals, and shit. And we have to do karaoke."

"Fuck!" He bellows. "They have karaoke ? I had no idea !"

"Great. So you'll do it ? "

"Are you kidding ? No fucking way !"

"Yes you will, arsehole ! I'm getting you so pissed, you'll be singing like, Mariah Carey."

I stand, strike a pose, and sing ...

"_I'll be there ! I'll be there ! Just call my name and-"_

... before Tony bats me on the head.

"Don't be such a fucking poof ! That was the Jackson _Five _!"

"She covered it, though !"

"Who gives a rat's arse ! So did probably Whitney fucking Houston ! Total and complete bollocks !"

I sit. I grumble.

"I thought you didn't know anything about old music."

"Well, I definitely know more about _glam_ rock than I ever wanted."

"So then you'll sing _Bowie_ ! ?" I fly out of my seat and begin belting it. _"Don't fake it baby ! Lay the real thing on me ! The church of man-love ! Is such a holy place to be !"_

Tony looks round in embarrassment.

"Shut _UP_, Max !"

* * *

"So what happened with Bill ?"

He keeps frigging bringing up _Bill_.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Doesn't it feel a bit fucked up, though, that he was supposed to be sitting where I am right now ?"

"Maybe. Whatever. It's over."

"But why, Max? What the fuck happened ? He was a good guy. Maybe you made the wrong decision."

"Christ, thanks for the vote of confidence. I thought you didn't like him."

"Ya but ... what does it matter what _I_ think ? You were nuts for him. And you made a nice couple. I sort of thought he was maybe even, like, _the one_."

Damn, it's uncomfortable.

I sit back and stare out the window, feeling sullen. Bill was lovely, it's true, and Tony could be right – I might very well kick myself at some point, but my gut, and more importantly, my heart, are telling me otherwise.

"No. I don't think he was, Tone."

He shrugs.

"You can still change your mind."

I look at him, annoyed.

"What the fuck ! You didn't even _like_ him, Tone!"

"Nor he, me."

How does he ? ? I was meticulous about keeping it from him ! Or so I thought ...

"Well, he ... he ... he didn't mind you all _that_ much. I think it was more a matter of-"

"-Jealousy. We were both jealous of each other."

I laugh.

"Fuck, you don't hold back, do you ? I think there was an element of jealousy in it for him, a bit, yes. I'm sure it was hard to come along and find a place in my life-"

"-When I take up every bloody second of it."

"No, that's not what I meant, Tone."

"Yes it is. You're just being polite. Screw polite. You and I are sorta like twins, Max. _Siamese_ twins."

I laugh.

"Not that there's really anything wrong with that. It's rather quaint."

"Ya, but ... I just don't wanna be responsible for you ending up alone and like, desolate, or whatever."

I laugh again.

"Tony, I'm fucking 18 ! Got my whole frigging _life_ to go! I have no _intention_ of becoming an old maid, so don't worry yourself, arsehole."

"Alright, alright. So anyway, more interesting topics: Brighton. Two gay clubs. You're sure to score, Max. Loads of cock to be had."

Which _was_ the initial intent, yes, but at the moment, is the last thing on my mind. Still, I play along.

"Yes, loads."

"Time for an orgy, maybe."

I laugh.

"Yes, high time. You'll have to surrender the room to me. Maybe get one of your own."

He laughs.

"Right, okay, across the hall, or something. But then your door'll keep opening all night, with all your _manmeat_ filing in, one after another, so I won't get any sleep."

"We're hardly going to Brighton to sleep."

"What would you do though, Max, with a room full of hard cock ? Ever thought of it ? Like, a dozen guys, say."

I burst out laughing.

"No, that's not the question. The question is, what _wouldn't_ I do."

"Ahh," he smiles. He laughs. "I guess I maybe don't wanna know."

"Right. You don't."

I turn to him.

"Town's full of straight clubs, too, Tone. I really do think therein lies the answer. Fresh, live pussy. _Not_ on tape, _not_ on paper. An orgy of your own, perhaps."

He grimaces.

"Chelle-"

"-Chelle doesn't count, Tone; how many times have I told you ? You guys had all that _history_, and then she sort of forced herself on you. Not exactly conducive to ..."

"Whatever. Not frigging holding my breath."

"It's a _mental_ block, remember ? That's what the research said. _Not_ physical. Some hot girl who doesn't know you, I mean, could definitely be the answer. I'm not kidding. And it'd be a fuck of a lot more fun than sex therapy, I'm betting."

"Sex therapy could be hot. I'm planning on it, in fact. 'Specially if the doc's up for it."

"Shut up, arsehole. Anyway, if you didn't bring condoms, I've got loads." I smile. "Even flavoured ones."

"Whatever. Other topics ? More we talk about the prospect of pussy, more tense I get."

My shoulders slump.

"Sorry."

* * *

It's all so weird, discussing The Topic, the thing that has consumed me for the last year, only to find that, suddenly, incredibly, it's lessened it's grip. Why ? Because. I'm preoccupied ... by ... _this thing_, this unmentionable undercurrent swimming teasingly back and forth, just beneath the surface.

But, once again, I'm not about to do, or rather, say anything stupid. Maxxie will find some hot Brighton bloke, or two, which is as it should be, and when we get home, he's going back to Bill, whether he knows that right now or not. And not just because I sort of sense I was at least part of the reason they split.

Look. Kid's spent a year of his life doting on me. I say 'spent', some might say 'wasted'. Either way, I don't know that I'd deserve it if I didn't at least try to repay the honor by _trying_ to do the right thing. Not that I think I have any magical persuasive powers over either of 'em, but I have this idea if I can go to Bill behind Max's back, and then, and this is crucial, _step the fuck away_, for once, and finally allow the lad some breathing room ... he'll come to his senses.

And the hope, not to mention the _plan_, is that _I _will, in turn, too.


	9. Brighton

**So a quick cab ride and we're checking into the hotel**, early. Maxxie's a regular travel agent - place is pretty fucking impressive, seven storey former Victorian boarding house directly across the road from the beach.

Room's amazing. Way nicer than I expected; top floor, with an ocean view, huge flat screen tv with full cable, decent sized loo, in-room microwave and fridge, a big desk and couch and two fair sized double beds. Big enough for an orgy, for sure.

* * *

Not the palace I'd expected, especially for the price I'm paying, but whatever, it's cool, room's huge, and we're near to everything.

Quickly we dump our bags and head straight to the boardwalk, where Tony pulls me by hand onto the dreaded Super Booster. I'm not chickenshit, honest, but I also don't like the idea of anything that makes me scream bloody frigging murder. In public, anyway.

* * *

Such a pansy. Had to drag him on board, but it was _so_ worth it ! Terrifying ! But in a good way. You actually think they're gonna drop you into the ocean from twenty storeys up, only to be swung downward at sixty miles an hour, swooping over the crowd so low you could scalp people, and seconds later, it's over.

Maxxie screamed like a hyena the whole way and dug his nails into my arm with both hands. Almost drew blood. What a hoot.

* * *

Afterwards, still reeling from the near-vomit experience, it took me about twenty minutes to both walk and talk normally, after which I dragged Tony into the Fun House with it's coloured strobe lights, freaky mirrors and alternately moving stairs and sidewalks, then straight to the Fright Chamber where, giggling away, we were put into adjacent medieval stocks while a combination Bela Lugosi/Jack the Ripper type ran round with the equivalent of a torch under his chin, howling at us in a bad Bavarian accent.

Then onto the water splash log ride thing, which, despite getting soaked, was indeed a blast. Never screamed louder or laughed harder in my life.

* * *

"Christ, Max." He bellowed afterwards. "We should _move_ to frigging _Brighton_ !"

* * *

Then a break for bad food – fried dough, candy floss, weird carmelly and oddly flavoured popcorns, brightly colored slurpies, then the shooting gallery, where between us we knocked off thirteen rabbits, then back to the main feature: the rides, of course. Max insisted on the Ferris Wheel, which I admit, while a definite granny-ride, was surprisingly cool, if only for the kickarse views.

"Look at the fucking _beach_, Tone !"

"Christ, and the ocean, and the town, and all the _people_ ! I had no idea Brighton was this big."

He points.

"Somewhere down there is your future wife."

"Yuh," I snort.

He points harder.

"_Her_. Right _there_ ! Blonde, short-shorts."

I look. Not terrible, at least from here.

"I bet her name's _Bambi_, or something."

"No – _Bunny_."

He cups his hands round his mouth.

"_Hey Bunny !"_

"Shut up, Maxxie !"

"_How's your minge ?"_ He shouts, before I can clamp my hand over his face.

Right then, of course, she looks up at us, and since the ride's on it's downward descent, we each get a clear view of the other, and Bunny is not pleased.

* * *

Okay, naughty, I admit. It's my mood.

And we _did_ try to contain ourselves, but the girl's scowl was so over the top it only added to the hilarity – up close she resembled an angry nun in a bikini top, which caused us to double over in our seat, hooting away, almost pissing ourselves, and then, when the ride ended, pulling each other physically along, wiping our eyes, and clutching our sides.

* * *

The ride operator saw the whole thing and had a few choice words for us but we ran off, straight for the Bullet Train, which sent us flying down insanely steep hills, swirling through loops, going completely upside down, sideways, and then back again, the two of us shrieking away like idiots. Fantastic. Most fun I've had in my whole goddamn life, and we've only been here an hour.

* * *

Finally after three or four more rides, a few more cracks at the "games of chance" in which Tony won me an adorable stuffed pink baby elephant, as well as an oversized, rather phallic looking lollipop, we visit the arcade for nearly two hours of Rock Band, Grand Theft Auto 3, Call of Duty 4, and several old time Pac Man-era video games. Not really my thing, but Tony's beside himself, running from game to game like a little boy.

It's so sweet, I could kiss him.

* * *

"Christ," he laments, flopping backward onto the bed, at our hotel. "This town's got me fucking _beat_ ! What's wrong with me, Max?"

"Tony," I call from the bathroom, attempting to fix my wind and sand-blown hair, "we haven't stopped running since we got here. Fucking 800 mile an hour rides, and _twelve_ of them. I don't think my stomach can take much more."

"Neither mine. Let's get like, lunch, already."

"Tony, you've been eating all day."

"Ya, but complete fucking _crap_. I need a _real_ meal, then we'll hit the beach."

I sigh, giving up on my hair, which is now to be subject to salt water.

* * *

I'm laying back, wasted, but thoroughly exhilarated over the day thus far plus additional fun to be had ... when it suddenly hits me. Much as I've complained and been depressed over the turn of events in my sorry life, from the accident to surgeries and coma and endless therapy, to the loss of my friends, girlfriend, and then the ego crushing misery of impotence ... I am, I realize, happy as a fucking clam, and it takes not more than a second to realize why:

Maxxie.

Maxxie, who could've easily fucked off along with the rest, but because he's such a thoroughly decent bloke, didn't – didn't even cross his mind, apparently, even though I've given him, fuck knows, plenty of reasons over the last year, right up to, I'm fairly certain, the loss of a genuine article boyfriend.

I sit up and look at him. It's a bit weird. I feel a lightness flooding my chest, a sort of weird feeling of what I can only call contentment.

Suddenly it all makes sense – everything I've been through, maybe all the way back to the day I was born, was leading up to this. It was all planned, so that one day I could experience a certain epiphany.

That I'm in love with Maxxie.

* * *

Good and warm (albeit highly confused) as such a thing makes me feel, on the heels of it is the stern knowledge that I therefore owe it to him to indeed, step back. I _will not _stand in the way of what he, more than anyone I know, so richly deserves: the love of somebody who's right for him. The love of a good man.

* * *

He's rifling through his suitcase for his swimming trunks, the new pair he bought specially for this trip, which he made sure were bright flaming _pink_, lest, he explained, his Bristol-strength gaydar fail him here in Brighton.

Brilliant plan, really.

"Right. So we'll position ourselves near a pack of girls, for you, which'll meanwhile give me perfect cover to scan the beach for _muscle_."

I laugh.

"Max."

"What, Tone ?" he says, but ignores me and proceeds to hold up a succession of shirts, asking which show off his best feature, best.

"Wait, what best feature ?"

He places a hand against his belly and looks insulted.

"My abs, of course. And I do have a lovely broad back, not to mention a perfect arse. Anyway, so, do I go for obvious/slutty, and wear this one ?" He asks, holding up a shirt that's at least two sizes too small. "Or the less poofy, sporty number ?" He looks at it, and then muses, "maybe not. Straight bloke'll approach me to talk about the _game _and fucking scores and kicks and _maneuvers_ and shit; totally missing the _point_."

I smile. Christ, he's adorable sometimes.

"Which is ?"

"The beauty of the male _form_, Tone. All those gorgeous, fit, sweaty, dirt-caked men running round in tiny shorts_, _underneath which is worn a mere _jock strap_. I mean, how hot is _that_ ? ! Did you know if you look, you can see the elastic thing that holds it criss-crossing their butts _?_"

I burst out laughing.

"Is that so, Maxxie ? If you look real close you can see it ?"

"Yes, arsehole. I keep telling you, gays have the best of both worlds. Not only can we enjoy the sport itself, like straights can, but we can admire all that beautiful male flesh, too."

"Max."

"Oh, yes, sorry. What is it, Tone ? Got caught up in fashion dilemmas. One must be careful with such things. And fuck, my hair's a dreadful mess. I'll have to wash and completely re-jig it before we go out tonite."

"_Max."_

He stops.

"What ?"

"Thanks."

He squints.

"Huh? For what ?"

I smile.

"For _everything_, mate. Seriously. For taking care of me all this time, and lifting my spirits a hundred million times and shit. I don't think I've ever actually said it."

He shrugs.

"It's okay. You don't have to thank me. It's no big deal."

"No big deal ? Are you kidding ? Max, you pretty much saved my life."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Christ, listen to me. I don't mean the injuries, I mean everything _else_. Being my best mate as much as you've been. You're like a fucking saint. And now here you go blowing all your birthday money on a trip with me when you could be here with some hot guy."

"I don't want to be with some hot guy," he blurts.

* * *

Fuck, I want to fly into the air and reclaim the revealing words before they reach his ears.

"Huh ? What are you on about ? You talk about it all the _time_, arsehole."

"Um," I stumble. "Right. Ya. Sorry. Thinking about which shirt."

"Who cares about your shirt ! We're going to the _beach_ – you won't be _wearing_ your bloody shirt."

"On approach and exit, I will be, Tone. That's when any nearby prospects will be more likely to turn and _watch_."

"So then, why not just be shirtless ? Show off those famous abs ?"

He shakes his head.

"No. You don't wanna flaunt it _too_ much. Sends the wrong message."

He grins.

"Which _is_ ?"

"That I'm a tart, or something. Indiscriminate. I _do_ try to choose carefully, you know."

* * *

Down on the beach, I lay our blanket near a pack of bikinis, which for some reason makes Tony uncomfortable.

We whip off our shirts (I settled on something midway between slutty and sporty) and stand a moment, surveying the water, and the crowd.

I'm thrilled when the nearby girls turn to give a look, but then realize with horror, that it's mainly me they're checking out. Don't the pink shorts give me away ?

I turn to Tony. He's jittery, and I suddenly realize why. His scars, which all but dominate his chest. The thick, long, raised, jagged and still mostly pink number across the center, the smaller ones where they inserted cameras and tubes to pump up his two collapsed lungs, and the equally jagged and violent looking one along his back.

Suddenly without a word he sprints ahead of me running full bore for the water, and I follow. It seems obvious he's running equally from self conscious embarrassment, as much as the desire to swim.

God, I feel awful.

* * *

No matter though, he throws himself in, joyfully, it seems, and I as well, and fuck ! Not quite as warm as I'd hoped, but then this is hardly Barbados. Still, we quickly grow used to it, and Tony's animated again.

"Wanna learn to surf one of these days, Max. Looks pretty fucking cool on the telly."

"Where do you see surfing on telly ?"

"Baywatch."

I laugh.

"Of course. So did any of the girls appeal ?"

He shrugs, floating on his back and turning his head to blow bubbles in the water.

"Dunno."

"The redhead's a knockout, Tone. Built."

"Ehh."

"I think she was looking at you."

"She was gawking at my scars, Max. They all were. Should've kept my shirt on."

"Tony, some women like scars."

He looks at me annoyed.

"I'm serious. It makes you look tough. Battle worn, like. Some of them really dig that."

"Nah, that's only if you've got a small mark on your face or something, like from a fight. Not your whole torso cut to ribbons like me."

"Tony, you're dead good looking. I've told you before."

He looks annoyed again. "You're my _friend_, Max. Sorta required to say such things, aren't ya?" And then turns and dives deep and graceful into the water, feet kicking straight up into the air behind him. As a dancer, something I can't help but be impressed by.

When he comes up it's 20 metres away. I swim over and immediately work to disabuse him of the notion that he could somehow be unattractive.

"Don't insult me, okay ? I wouldn't bullshit you about this. Remember, you're the same guy who pulled every girl in Bristol, and believe me, it wasn't only with your charm."

"I'm skinny as a stick, now."

"You weren't exactly Mister He-Man back then, Tone." I sigh. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden ?"

"Fuck it. I just wanna swim."

"Come on. Tell me."

He shrugs.

"Just felt sort of humiliated back there, Max. Like a freak."

"Well, there's no need. You're beautiful. You're bright, and funny. You're a total prize, and don't give me that bullshit about being required to say such things. The fact that I know you better than anyone gives me the qualifications to judge you for who you are. I'm betting you're going to score tonite, or this weekend, successfully, in fact I'm gonna just about guarantee it. If not with the redhead, then with some other hottie."

He smiles a bit, but still looks rather broody, and in the sunlight, with the blue water surrounding him, which it so happens is the same colour as his eyes, is rather heart-stoppingly radiant.

"Thanks Max."

* * *

Back up at our blanket, as we're drying off, Max suddenly turns to the assembled bikinis.

"Do you guys know any good clubs in town ?"

Pretty smooth opener for a gayboy.

A few names are thrown out, and I can't help but notice the redhead ogling me, and not in a good way. It's freakshow time, as far as she's concerned.

Just as I'm about to snap at her that I was hit by a bus and to please go fuck herself, Maxxie blurts.

"This is my mate, Tony. He's in the army. Just got back from Iraq."

Christ, he really _is_ smooth – my scars go in one instant from grotesque, to heroic.

"Were you shot ?" One of them freely asks me.

"And stabbed," Maxxie replies quickly, nodding. This admittedly has more of a swashbuckling appeal to it.

It does seem to do the trick – suddenly introductions are going all the way around. Redhead, who it turns out is French, is called Marie, and is indeed built. As small talk is made, mainly by Maxxie (I'm far too jittery and out of practice for such things), I have a sudden picture in my mind of ramming my cock into her cleavage.

A bit of a fatigued notion for my brain at this point, I admit. Something I have the weirdly unsettling feeling I've sort of outgrown.

* * *

After probably a bit too much chatter, I retire to our blanket, thrilled in the knowledge that I've very possibly created a hookup, for later, the girls strongly hinting that they will be hanging at the Honey Club.

"So, soldier boy," I gloat, careful to keep my voice low. "Fairly easy, that. You're as good as fucked."

He groans.

"Tell that to my cock."

"She's pretty gorgeous, though, huh ?"

"Who ?"

"_Marie_, you dolt."

He shrugs. It's slightly maddening.

"I guess."

"Tits," I say encouragingly. "Girl's got _tits_."

"Shut up, Max."

_Yes, shut up. Stop pressuring him, for fuck's sake._

I kneel and reach for my sun screen lotion.

"Right. Well, sit up. You're so pale, you'll burn in ten seconds."

He does, begrudgingly, and I begin applying it to his back. Sigh, the scarring _is_ rather gruesome, but also fascinating in a weird way. A permanent marker of all he's been through. It certainly makes him stand out, but then Tony's never been one to blend in.

God knows he has dazzlingly perfect skin otherwise, and I've grown to love the pale white, which contrasts so beautifully with his jet black hair. Gorgeous look, really. Also, much as I go on about muscles, I'm afraid my feelings for Tony have coloured my long-held notions of the physical ideal. Yes, muscles are glorious things, they've called to me all my life, but as I run my fingers over his back I'm seeing and feeling that he _does_ have them, it's just that they're more subtle, like a swimmer's. Not something that has previously appealed to me in the least, and yet ...

Suddenly I have a vivid flash of Marie's fingers dragging down this very back, and it's like a punch in the gut. Damn. Already, I hate her.

No. I don't. It's something he's craved beyond all else, and so I have to want it for him. Soon as the impotence is cured, which it will be, it's only a matter of time, either by force, or through therapy, Tony will be off to a blissful, lengthy much deserved stint in Fuckland. And, as his best mate, I will be happy for him.

I _will_.

* * *

Weird feeling, have to say, his hands on me. I even feel a bit guilty. Almost like sneaking and getting the girl you like to fuck you in the dark because she mistakes you for her boyfriend.

Max has no idea what's gone on in my head these last few months, of course, let alone the intensifying of it of late, and if he did, he'd very likely _not_ be right now rubbing lotion into my naked back.

Fuck though, his hands feel amazing. Soft, and strong, and smooth. He knows how to massage, professional-like, and that's almost what it feels like. Incredibly good. Too good.

I stop him.

"Okay. _Enough, _already."

"Do me, then," he says.

_Fuck._

He sits, and turns away from me, and I mean ... it's the weirdest thing in the world. Like I've been hit with fairy dust.

Maxxie's body. Seeing it, in a way, for the first time. He, who goes on about muscles, has _loads_ of 'em. His back forms that highly sought after "V" shape, in fact, one can't help but notice, and is covered in skin so perfect, and perfectly tanned, it's sorta ridiculous.

And now I'm supposed to run my hands over it ?

Christ. I _can't _really be thinking these thoughts. I _can't_. This is _insane_. This is _Maxxie_. My friend. Who yes, I have a huge crush on. Alright, more than a huge crush.

Maybe I should tell him, right here and now. I can't do it, Max. I can't rub lotion on you. It's not right. It's taking advantage. Why?

_Because I'm in love with you._

_

* * *

_

He turns his head in annoyance.

"Tony, what the fuck ? Come _on_. There's only a few more hours of sunlight."

My mouth goes dry. I squirt out a batch into my hand, raise it, and close my eyes.

"So," he says all nonchalant. "If you need the room later, just gimme a signal, and I'll hang out in the bar til you call my mobile."

"Huh ?" I ask, my voice weak. Fuck, this is agony. It's like a god's body, under my fingers, a Greek mythical god; smooth, broad, tanned, healthy, perfectly proportioned. Spectacular, really.

"_Marie,"_ he whispers, quite pointedly.

Oh _her_, I think.

When what I want is _you_.

* * *

Okay, be a man. Admit it. You've either lost your mind, or turned slightly gay. Or bi. Or maybe you were all along.

No I wasn't. I _know_ I wasn't.

Okay, well then the accident did it to you, or the coma. Or the stress of the last year. Or all this exposure to Maxxie.

Yes, it's Maxxie's fault.

Idiot. You can't "catch" _gay_, like you can a frigging cold.

Either way, it'll pass.

_I really need it to pass. _

Okay. Pussy. One night with Marie and I'll not only maybe be magically healed of my impotence, but more importantly, this bizarre ... weirdness, or affliction or whatever the fuck it is. Illness. Sickness.

_Sickness ? _

It doesn't feel like a sickness.

It feels like a cure.

* * *

After a quick and cheap dinner we hit the clubs. _Audio_, which is huge, two storeys, right on the beach, and has a second floor terrace overlooking same, has many pretty people of all persuasions. We down a few drinks and then I jump in the middle of the dance floor and begin spinning round, I admit, showing off a bit, and having a fine time dancing by myself – Tony preferring to stand and watch the crowd, he says.

* * *

Actually I'm watching Maxxie.

* * *

To my disappointment I'm approached by no one, but then this _is_ a straight club. Next we move on to _Gemini_, and no amount of whining will coax Tony to the floor and so, annoyed, I abandon him for the better part of 40 minutes and dance my arse off.

When fatigue finally overtakes me, I move back toward him but take an immediate right turn as ...

_... he's chatting up a girl ! ! ! ! !_

Some pretty, curly haired brunette in a tight, glittering top, who, seconds later, walks off.

I approach.

"Who was that ?"

"No one."

"What happened ?"

He glares at me.

"_Nothing_. Too much like Michelle, okay? Let's hit your gay club."

"After. Remember? We have a date at Honey Club, with _Marie_."

* * *

Honey Club, while perfectly situated on the beach, and bustling with many lovely dancers and clubbers, proves disappointing, not the least because we spend a full hour here and there is no sign whatever of Ms French Redhead or any of her bikini pals.

Christ.

I want to stay longer, just in case, but Tony, undoubtedly sorely disappointed, suggests instead that we "hit your frigging gay club already, and then call it a night."

* * *

At said gay club, Revenge, the biggest such place in the area by far, I have near-immediate offers of drinks, but ignore them and instead, head for the huge, pulsing dance floor.

Dancing is many things, to me. An art. I hope one day, a profession. A turn on. A turn _off_, sometimes. Great exercise. But always an excellent way to clear the head.

In the distance, I spy Tony, who is approached by boys and girls alike, this club also being popular with straights. However I can't help but notice that he seems to be avidly watching me.

Undoubtedly just bored.

It's his own fault. He's been approached in all 4 clubs tonite, and thus had ample opportunity to try to set up scoring opportunities for himself, but won't lift a bloody finger.

* * *

When yet another girl approaches him, and almost immediately walks away, I feel both very annoyed with him, and guilty for putting him through this, and approach, myself.

"Come on, Tone. You can't tell me _none_ of these girls appeal."

He shrugs.

"Some of 'em are okay. Just not in the mood."

The mood ? What happened to horn-dog boy who is constantly on me about sex and tits ? God, he is nothing if not frustrating.

"Well, we can come back tomorrow, maybe." I then try it on him, even though I know it's futile. "Will you at least come out on the dance floor with me ? Please?"

To my great surprise, he agrees.

* * *

Don't know what I'm doing, but before I can do it, a big bloke steps in and whispers something in Max's ear, which seems to be the magic words as it stops him dead in his tracks.

He looks mildly guilty at me, but I smile and do what I've promised ... step away ... even if it sort of hurts ... and watch as he heads for the floor with Muscle Man.

As they sway slowly round each other, I'm hit with a mix of quite intense emotions. Jealousy, to be sure. The bloke's older than me, early 20's I'd say, well dressed, good looking in a rugged sort of way, seems like the type with money, but is more importantly in possession of a healthy set of bulging biceps, the type I'm positive Maxxie imagines would carry him to a bed, or pin him, or hold him, effortlessly, by the hips, against a wall. The type that would make it into his secret sketchpad.

Of the other emotions I feel, one of them is, strangely, pride. That people notice him like they do, not the least reason being he's the best, most graceful and artful dance out there, even if he's barely working at it – this sort of dancing is play, for Maxxie, pure fun, not anything he has to think about ... and is a complete joy to watch.

That I can count this amazing creature as my friend makes me proud, especially.

I imagine for a moment standing on a pedestal, in fact, asking for the music to be turned down, taking a mic and announcing to the crowd that Maxxie, the brightest and handsomest lad here, the most naturally gifted dancer and artist, the funniest and and funnest and smartest, most loyal kickarse person in the room and in fact in maybe all of Europe, is my one and only best mate, and that any of you who dare have your eyes on him had better well fucking be _up to snuff_, be worthy of him, or I _will_ kill you.

* * *

As they dance on and on, and the bloke starts making his move, holding Maxxie, taking him by the waist, whispering into his ear, letting a hand brush down over his arse ... clear signs that I will be the one vacating the room tonite ... I start to become sort of ill.

My chest tightens, and I can't get air. A wave of nausea grips me. I gulp down my drink, but it doesn't help, doesn't blot out the view I have of a dance floor seduction of the person I'm in love with ... and it all comes crashing.

Everything. Everything I felt earlier today, that I was happy, that life was great, that it all made sense and was building to a glorious climactic moment of truth – that Maxxie and I were a preordained thing ... _and_ that I was cool enough and selfless and mature enough, that I loved him enough to step aside ... all of it is instantly exposed for the cruel, delusional bullshit that it was. That in reality, save for Maxxie, I'm alone in the world, and that as long as I know him I will be subject to this same sight, of him being swept into the arms of a man, of many men of appeal and interest and muscle and money, men who will love him and whom he will love, and none of them will be me.

I'm sweating. I turn. I can't watch. I feel truly ill – my stomach doing flips, my head pounding, the loud music suddenly an assault.

I dive for the exit.

* * *

On paper, he ticks every box. By rights I should be hard as rock and counting the seconds til we fuck, but my heart's not in it.

I look off, trying to think up an excuse to break away from this bloke who slightly to my annoyance clearly considers this a done deal, and spy Tony, looking upset, making his rapid way towards the door.

I bolt – something's wrong, and run after him, and catch up outside.

"Are you okay ? What is it ?"

He's paler than normal, and agitated.

"_Nothing."_

"What is it, Tone ? _Tell _me for fuck's sake."

* * *

Christ, I'm near to hyperventilating. The irony and misery and horror of the whole thing is hitting me like a collapsing brick wall ... of having a mate you've stupidly, _so_ stupidly fallen in love with, the person you tell everything in the world to, no matter how small, no matter how huge or embarrassing ... and you realize that you must keep this one deadly, horrible secret from him. That you will lose him, otherwise.

I want simultaneously to cry, to jump off the roof, and to scream my fucking lungs out.

He places a hand on my shoulder.

_"Are you sick ?"_

* * *

His eyes widen, and he laughs bitterly. He says nothing for a minute, then blurts,

"Yes! _Sick_._ Sick in the fucking head. Lost my fucking mind, _in fact."

"Tony, what are you talking about ? What's wrong ?"

* * *

I can't say it.

I can't.

And here he stands, waiting, with a look of deep concern and worry in his eyes.

Christ, it's so fucking Maxxie, isn't it ? That he'd dart from the number one choice fuck of the evening to the side of a friend simply to check that he's okay. There might not even be anything wrong. For all he knows, I'm out here to catch some air or chat up a girl ... but that's not how Maxxie operates.

"Tone, please, you're scaring me. What is it ? You have to tell me."

My innards are bound up tight, my eyes are starting to sting, my chest feels like it's filling with cement. I have a momentary thought that I might keel over right here, that if I don't say it, don't finally release this buildup of pressure in my skull, it'll cause more damage than the brain bleed ever could.

I try like fuck to hold off ... but simply don't have the strength. I force myself to look at him ... and out it tumbles.

"_I love you, Maxxie."_

His face softens, and turns all brotherly on me.

"I love you, too, Tone-"

I shake my head slowly and bristle in preemptive humiliation.

"-_No_. You don't understand. I _love_ you, Max. I _love _you. I'm ... _christ _... _in love ... _with you."

He swallows and looks at me a minute with his mouth hung slightly opened, and when it closes, I know it's hit home.

* * *

In a word, I'm flattened.

But then immediately realize, he's off his head. Clearly. Of course. He's confused. Overtired. Drunk, maybe. Did the rides today affect the brain bleed after all ? Or maybe someone slipped something into his drink. Or perhaps he's finally cracked. A year's delay in that, but still, it could happen.

I reach for his hand. I speak softly.

"Tony, I think maybe-"

"-_Don't_, Max," he snaps.

I search his eyes.

"Don't what ?"

"Don't ... _dismiss_ it. Don't you fucking _dare_. It's _true_. Do you think I would fuck with you about this ?"

I swallow down a big gulp.

"No, but-"

"-Then _don't_. This is humiliating enough."

"But Tony-"

He takes two steps away, then back, pacing in front of me, looking down, speaking quickly, but clearly. Not drunk, then.

"-I-I ... I don't know how in fuck it happened. I don't understand it. It just did. I don't know how or why it _could've _happened, but it did ... I'm, I'm sorry."

My god ... my _god_. He's ... he's ... _serious ?_

But ... ? ?

_Fuck. _

I know Tony inside and out. And so I know him well enough to see that he is indeed, _not fucking with me._ Meaning he's dead bloody serious, and aside from the understandable agitation he's displaying, appears to be of entirely sound mind.

_Wow_.

I mean ... holy blithering christ.

At another time I will work through my shock and bafflement. Despite my belief in his sincerity, I will argue with him - it's the only right thing to do - that he's confused, that he's _straight _and that this doesn't make sense and is perhaps a byproduct of cumulative stress and that it's maybe not the best thing for him. I will encourage him to take his time and work through his feelings and come out the other side. At the moment, however, a huge surge of glowing, unmitigated joy rockets through me. In fact, I'm flying.

I grip his hand tight. I look into his face, and smile, warmly, sincerely, bursting with all the love in my heart.

"_I'm in love with you, too, Tony."_

He rips his hand away.

"Fuck you ! _Stop_ it, Max."

"No – fuck _you _! It's _true_ ! I have been for a long while, I swear! I was too afraid to tell you !"

* * *

Fucking bastard. It _can't_ be. I _know_ Maxxie inside out. He can't keep a fucking secret ! He's never _once_ let on. Also, he'd _never_ go for someone like me ! Skinny, fucked up, scarred up, friendless, brain damaged loser.

The realization that he's _patronizing _me, playing along out of sympathy or _pity _... I mean, holy shit. Just completely turn my stomach. Just call into question our whole fucking friendship, why don't you.

The humiliation complete, disgusted and devastated and feeling like I must not know him, afterall, and with no clue in the world where I'm headed, I turn to leave.

A split second later I'm swung round hard to face him.

* * *

A second after _that_, I throw my mouth at his, fucking stubborn straight boy, and kiss the bleeding shit out of him.


	10. Perfect Frigging Sense

**Jesus creeping shit.** The thing that's haunted me for months on end ... tormented me ... and here it is, the realization of my worst nightmare ...

I wondered. All this time I wondered – angrily and repeatedly kicked the thought away with both feet, but the bloody thing kept resurfacing, and now ...

My god.

Maxxie's lips ... Maxxie's motherfucking_ lips ..._

What did Oscar Wilde say ? "The curves of your lips rewrite history" ? That's about right.

Sweet christ. _Only_ fucking magic. Soft, supple, full, _fantastic_. About a thousand times better than I'd remembered. Bastard even smells good.

* * *

Last person who snogged me was Michelle – many moons ago, now, and it was hurried and frantic, stressful, even. Nothing behind it, or, as it turns out, ahead of it, either.

Maxxie kissing you, by contrast, is like ... _wow !_ ...throwing open a door into a room, into a _brain_ which has been sealed off tight. Totally fucking amazing - _un_hurried. _Sweet_. Oddly comfortable- like we've been doing this for years, yet with just enough intensity to let you know he fucking well means it.

_Who knew ?_ Here I am, outside, in full view of the world ... _kissing a boy ! ..._ and it feels _GOOD_ _! ! __Really_ _fucking __good ! _

Which is all such a completely insane freakout, cuz ... _I'm not supposed to like this ! __I'm supposed to be repulsed by this ! _As in, not leaning into like I am ! Not getting tingly !

I mean ... what in hell do you call this ?

* * *

Abruptly, before I have time give it a name, it all comes to a screeching halt, as Max goes to pull back. For a brief second though, our lips cling, still hanging onto the kiss ... but the bastard stands away.

Already I miss it. Already there's a void.

So here's where he realizes what he's done, and like the disgustingly decent schmuck that Maxxie always must be, apologizes for losing his head, and tries to reason with me. Tries to talk me out of everything.

Which, I'm telling you right now, ain't gonna happen.

* * *

Of all the truths in this world, in the _history_ of this world, here is one: that I would not only somehow get up the balls to _kiss Tony,_ for real _._.. but that _Tony would kiss back – _press those full, soft, ruby red, insanely scrumptious lips into mine ... with no intention of taking the mick, with no one paying him ...

That Tony would not push me away or, even, on instinct, punch me in the face, is surely proof, it _has_ to be ...

_... that he must really be in love with me._

* * *

Nothing else on earth explains it.

* * *

How can I possibly get my head around it ?

* * *

But alas ... I'm distracted. Muscle Man is nosily hovering, looking annoyed, having followed me out here apparently intent on staking his claim, only to find me brazenly kissing some other bloke ?

I break from this warm, magnificent mouth and turn, rather indignant and annoyed myself ...

"Sod off back to the gym," I snap. "I'm not in love with you." I point. "I'm in love with _him_."

Tony looks at me in shock.

* * *

By christ, he said it_ right out loud _! In _public_ !

* * *

The behemoth snorts.

"Ya, well fuck _you_, then."

Tony snarls, "No, fuck _you, _tosser !" and begins walking threateningly, with one finger pointing at the guy, who has to be twice his weight. "Maxxie's not _interested_, _capiche_ ?"

"Tony, don't !" I shout, jumping to his side, but it isn't necessary. The bloke chuckles sarcastically, and duly fucks off.

Tony turns to me, flustered and flushed. He runs a shaky hand up into his hair. He looks a right mess. A breathtaking one. When he speaks, his voice cracks.

"Don't fuck with me, Max. I swear."

I take his hand. I speak softly.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Tone. You _know_ I wouldn't. I've felt this way for ages. Been too chickenshit to let on, terrified you'd run a mile."

We study each other for long moments, neither knowing what to say. It goes on forever, this mutual, careful inquiry into the other's sincerity.

Finally, Tony speaks.

"_Me, too."_

* * *

Christ, my head's spinning. Just in total shock. How could it actually _be_ ? ? _Any_ of it ?

Yet here we stand, watching each other's faces, and it's slowly sinking in.

Maxxie's in love with me.

* * *

Half of me wants to jump out of my skin, the other half's terrified.

Meanwhile, Maxxie's calm, the bastard.

But then, he's used to boys declaring their love.

* * *

"So ... what does this mean ?"

I take a slow, steady breath. The whole world feels different right now, _is _different; the air, the scent of things.

"It means what you want it to mean, Tone."

We're each back to the extended facial search.

"What do _you_ want it to mean ?" I finally ask.

Another breath.

"I guess ... I guess I sorta need to ask _you_ that question."

* * *

Of course. He's gay, he's known all along he's gay. A friend falling for him is normal. Just not a straight friend. Just not me.

* * *

Thing is, for the whole time I've had these feelings, I've tried to kill then, smother them, ignore them, explain them away. I've agonized over them, and haven't allowed them any light, or air, or respect.

But what's hitting me, now that they're out in the open, is that, like the kiss, they're actually weirdly _comfortable. _Something you could fall down inside of. _Not _something to fear or be freaked by. And, in fact, at the moment, they're sort of flooding me with ... _joy, _it has to be admitted. Giddiness. Happiness. Hope.

Fear, yes; nervousness – all that. Confusion, though ?

No.

It's all making sense, suddenly. Perfect frigging sense. It's quite simple, in fact.

I love Maxxie. He's the best mate I will ever have, amazing in every measurable way, he's fit, he's just admitted he loves me ... and ... if I were to confess my most deeply hidden secret, hidden, even, largely from myself, the one that, to now, has genuinely flipped me out, it would be this:

That I want him.

* * *

God ... how do you breathe normally, again ?

* * *

In response to my asking what he might want these earth shattering co-revelations to mean ... Tony shrugs.

"I guess ... I guess I don't know. I guess I still don't understand it, any of it ... but at the same time ... I don't give a toss. Sort of going with my gut, here."

He looks at me earnestly.

"So ... it must make me a bit bi, or like, gay or whatever, though, huh ?"

My brain winces.

_Gay ? _

_You don't just start being gay, claim that prize, Tone, overnight. You have to be born with it, but if not, then you sort of have to earn it. _

Okay, yes, a preposterous notion, but at the same time, there is a grain of truth to it ... and so I'm having a hard time letting go of the voice in my head which reminds me I've known all my life I was gay. I didn't jump to that conclusion, following a year of involuntary sexual starvation, at the first crush I had over a friend.

* * *

He's standing, eyes anxious, trusting that I'll know, that I can sort out this frightening, confusing mess for him.

God, but he _is_ achingly beautiful, though, in the soft glow of the moon, with still-moist lips, is he not ? Talk about a _vision_. And with that added hint of vulnerability, and a warm breeze gently tossing about his hair ... positively breathtaking.

Okay. Stop it. You've fallen in love here, with a beautiful boy, because it's in your nature. _It's not in Tony's._ He's still bloody _recovering,_ to a degree. Still figuring out the world. You _know_ this.

And you know _this, _or at least, you're pretty sure: had Marie been at the club tonite, you wouldn't even be having this conversation.

"Tone ..." Christ I'm nervous. I _don't _want to push him away, for fuck's sake, I mean, _my lips are still warm from before_, but ... I have to put it out there, if only to quiet my guilty conscience.

How does one put this, exactly ?

"I don't think you're gay."

"Okay, well, whatever. Bi, then."

"But ... it doesn't, y'know, happen just like that."

"Ya, but Max, this has been building for months."

Okay ... _Say that again, Tony. Please ? ?_

I try, once again, gently as I can.

"Still, I-I think we have to consider that-"

His face changes.

"-You don't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you, Tone, I just can't help but remember, I mean, given your past ..."

"I'm not that guy, anymore, Max. He's dead. Too much fucking water under the bridge."

"Okay, but I mean," ... my brain scrambling to catch up to everything that's happening ... "Tony, look ... don't you think, honestly, deep down, that if we'd encountered Marie tonite-"

His face colours. He shouts.

"_-I don't give a toss about Marie !_ I don't _want_ her ! _I want YOU ! !" _

* * *

_Gulp ... ! !_

Okay ! Just spin my head around seventeen times ...

_What ... a ... fucking_ ... _evening_ ! Just minutes ago, an exchanged blurting of the world's most sought after trio of words, and now _THIS !_ ?

Am I permitted to stop arguing with him now ?

* * *

I lean in, before the sanctimonious twat can open that pretty mouth again, and lay one on him. Yes. Good and fucking proper.

Don't believe me, Max ? Try _this_ !

To emphasize my point, I push him straight back into the wall behind, and proceed to kiss him, hard, and for real; openly, honestly, throwing everything I have into it – love, hope, desire.

* * *

There is something utterly surreal and fantastically overwhelming about being snogged to within an inch of your life ... by the person you're in love with ... who just happens to be your best mate ...who is in possession of the singular goal of proving you wrong.

If I had _any_ idea that Tony could kiss like this, I might've leapt on him months ago.

* * *

I can't help but reflect on our last, and only other kiss (not counting the brief, chaste one I planted on him a few months back which I'm sure he doesn't remember) ... in other words, _Russia_, and the person he was, then, a whole lifetime ago, now.

That kiss, directly in front of his girlfriend, had purpose, had meaning only in that it satisfied a curiosity. A fleeting, opportunistic dare. It involved, in other words, _taking_.

The boy before me now, ever ornery and willful, ever fond of difficult concepts, is, in so many ways, (despite what he thinks), the old Tony, and yet ..._ absolutely is not_, as illustrated so beautifully by this open, full bodied, freely given kiss; anything but a means to an end.

* * *

Said kiss, meanwhile, quickly deepens, and, as he lays one hand against my chest and runs the other softly up into my hair ... I'm in bad trouble.

* * *

Suddenly, before I have time to realize what's happened, I'm spun round, my back pushed firmly into the wall as Maxxie proceeds to absolutely lose it - grabs my face with both hands, presses his body close, and genuinely and expertly mauls me ... very shortly after which, okay ... you are permitted to sound the horns and ring the church bells, for a minor miracle, of a genuinely earth shattering quality, has occurred.

The discovery of the source of the strange but exceedingly pleasant sensation emanating from below ...

* * *

We stop dead. We stand slightly back, staring, positively stunned over not one, but two freshly budding erections.

We look up, mouthes hung wide.

"Get a fucking _room_ !" Some passerby cracks.

I jerk my head to the side. _Other people exist ? ! _

Before I look back, Maxxie's grabbed my hand, and we're _running_.


	11. From Scratch

**Hotel's three blocks and we're bloody _flying_**, hand in hand, practically tearing muscles as we run full bore past gawkers and onlookers, and I'm visited with the distinct sensation that it's all happening to someone else. Certainly the sensations below feel completely foreign, and yet in the far distant reaches of my mind, vaguely familiar.

Incredible to think that to the Tony I was, this would have been routine. So much so that one can't help but wonder if it maybe hadn't become a bit blase. Right now to me, by contrast, it's like I've won a million pounds, developed supernatural powers, and been made king of England.

But mostly, it's _this_ I can't get my head around: I, Tony Stonem, am unabashedly and also for the first time, unashamedly in love ... _with a boy. _

I'm convinced it's the first time I've actually been in love, period. This buzzed, helpless business, this stumbling about in a lightheaded love-stupor all the time has, I swear, altered my brain chemistry. Maybe even healed it. Thus I can't accept that had I been through something of this magnitude before, even prior to the accident, that I wouldn't know it.

And meanwhile it occurs to me, despite my earlier misgivings, that _it was maybe meant to be after all_, as within two minutes of our staggering co-declaration, my cock bloody well woke up, didn't it ?

_Remember what pulsing, throbbing, and concentrated warmth feels like ? Remember that you aren't just a vessel for_ _piss ?_

* * *

We're sprinting full bore, and it's exhilarating, like light, and magic, and freedom. Like the universe is singing.

He once asked me if I'd ever been in love. Were he to ask again, my answer would be ... _not like_ _this_.

Tomorrow I'll argue with him, maybe. Tonite, because, as the person who loves him best, I want it for him, maybe even more than he does himself ... he's going to come. Yes. I'm going to see to it.

* * *

"_Queers !" _some goon shouts.

* * *

Oh no. Not two minutes after Tony sort of comes out ... ? Talk about giving you pause – _that'll_ make him think twice.

My face is hot, but I will not allow some random motherfucker to ruin what is maybe the most tantalizingly amazing few moments of my life – of both of our lives. I pull Tony along but he's immediately slowing.

God dammit.

* * *

I stop, or at least slow, and turn, walking backwards. A part of me is in shock – to hear that word directed at _me_ ? Renowned skirt chaser, notorious womanizer ? A part of me's right fucking furious to know it was also directed at Maxxie. The remainder, however, recalls something Max once said: the best defense against neanderthals is to make like Cyrano, and disarm them with wit.

"Ya." I smirk, looking in the general direction of where the crack came from. I point. "Well, _he_ is, for sure, and _I_ might be. Anyway, I'm about to find out."

* * *

Brilliant ! I laugh out loud and yank on his arm. Thank god, after all, that Tony's still Tony; thank god he can dip into _him_ whenever he needs 'im.

I turn to the crowd myself as we resume running, calling back to them.

"Tarry ho ! Must run – emergency double hard-ons !"

* * *

We make it to the hotel and crash through the front door screaming past families and singles and young holiday couples, panting and sweating from the mad, excited dash in the warm night air.

I cram my finger into the lift button and we collapse into the wall opposite, snogging like the long denied lovers that we are, in full view of the lobby crowd and nosy hotel desk clerk, and it's absolutely glorious – his scent, his perfect skin, his warm, brilliant mouth. I press my pelvis into his and a surge rockets through me – god, I want to eat him alive – but by the time the bell dings, I realize something truly awful.

Tony's gone soft.

* * *

If there is a god, he _really_ fucking hates me. What other conclusion can you draw ?

What ... I'm to be given a teensy taste of what I've been missing all this time, only to have it yanked away two seconds later ?

Just fucking shoot me in the head, please.

* * *

No. This can't be happening.

As the doors split open, I walk him backwards into the lift, hit the button for our floor, and shove him into the wall.

* * *

Jesus fucking christ !

He does this wicked, slow grind pelvic thing that, trust me, is fucking _ungodly_, and nearly right away ...

_it works ! !_

_Voila ! ! Yes ! !_

And two seconds later ... it's gone again.

* * *

"_Fucking thing !"_ I snarl, yanking down his zipper and thrusting in a warm hand ...

* * *

_Wow_.

"_Maxxie_," I grunt/laugh. It's just a bit embarrassing getting wanked, suddenly and for the first time ever, by your best mate, under the bright lights of a public lift, with a door not three feet from us that could open at any moment ... but then this is clearly a man on a mission, and so I'm not about to stand in his way.

* * *

Bloody flesh defiantly ignores me, even as I rigorously challenge it to a duel, which really, is just too much, I mean, does it not know who I _am_ ? And so I mash my lips into his, cursing into his mouth. And not just because I have a certain fetish, I run a free hand up under his shirt and tweak a nipple or two, causing him to jolt slightly in place.

* * *

"Okay, _shit_," I gasp. That did it. Yes. I laugh a little, embarrassed and turned on, and embarrassed that I'm turned on.

* * *

_Ding !_

The lift stops and the door splits and we straighten ourselves quickly, peak out to look both ways, and then dart out into the hall, racing for the door.

By the time we're there, it happens again ... bastard thing's gone soft.

* * *

Christ, this is absolutely maddening. One minute my balls are buzzing, the next second, _nothing !_ Can I scream my lungs out, please ?

* * *

"_What the fuck !" _I snap, as I slip the key into the lock.

"Can't help it," he says, the picture of gloomy, frustrated embarrassment, as if this is somehow his fault.

I grab his hand.

"I know you can't. It's your _willy_ I'm mad at."

I kick open the door.

"_Now get in there so I can teach it a lesson."_

* * *

Inside the door, it's instantly different. Unhurried. Peaceful. In what I will recognize later to be a full circle Russia moment, I kiss him once, softly, pull off his shirt, and then my own.

We are then both standing there, half naked, on the precipice of what is surely a defining moment in our lives.

He's nervous and worried and horned out, and a tad freaked – it's written all over his face. Then it hits me, like a thunder bolt: _he's __putting himself in my hands._

My god. In an instant, it's crystal clear - all the girls he turned away tonite, all the other times I tried unsuccessfully to steer him towards women – he couldn't _trust_ them, to _give _a shit, to be patient, to _understand_. Why? Because you only get that from someone you love.

* * *

We're watching each other's faces. Huge moment. Scary. This is Maxxie, my best mate. I'm supposed to punch him in the shoulder and call him names and ride him and tell him off. Instead, we find ourselves completely enveloped in each other, as if no one else existed, inside a room that, ironically, just hours ago, we rented as two friends, and nothing more.

How can your whole world change in the blink of a lash ?

* * *

I lay a delicate hand on his chest. I lean in and he surprises me and wraps his arms round my back. God. Here we stand, quietly holding each other. It's stunning, the sheer beauty of the moment. I'm pleading with it not to pass, in fact, for the evening to end right here.

But, I realize, I love him too much for that.

* * *

Okay, hokey as it might be, I can't not say it:

My heart's gonna burst.

* * *

I find the strength at last to lean away, and kiss him, soft, at first. My lips find his jaw, the nape of his neck, collar bone, and finally, his chest.

* * *

He runs a hand slowly over my pathetically skinny, pale, scarred up form, and I'm gonna expire from embarrassment. I reach to turn out the light, but he stops me.

"Don't."

"Maxxie-"

"-Shut up, Tone."

So weird. He's examining me, caressing my scars, my nipples, my flat, shapeless body, like it's in some way ... _attractive_.

* * *

I run soft hands over the small mounds of his pecs, disbelieving in this moment that I could ever have fancied Mr Universe. Tony, with his smooth, subtle muscles, not in your face but rather, so much more appealing - _there to be discovered -_ coupled with achingly perfect rose pink nipples, exquisite smooth, pale flesh, and even the uniqueness of his scars, is to me right now, beauty personified.

I lean and take in the rose pink, circling it with lips and tongue until it grows into a little stone. As I move to visit it's twin, I let a hand linger below – no, I haven't forgotten about you – and caress the soft flesh here, gently for the moment, without challenge, as my mouth revisits his.

After a minute, his breathing changes.

* * *

He stops and looks down. We both do.

Okay, it's a beginning.

* * *

Not one I intend to skip out on.

Heart clanging away in my chest, I drop – it's our only hope - encircle the shaft, and without further ado, take him into my mouth.

* * *

_Fuck_, I think, blood banging away in my brain ...

_This ... is ... epic. _

_That, right there, is the top of Maxxie's head._

* * *

Total disbelief and yet, it feels completely right. Suddenly not at all strange to be doing this to Tony; my brain preoccupied simply with how badly I want this for him.

And so, what to do – go hard ? Treat it like a delicate, woefully underused organ ?

Tony's gasp tells me where to go.

* * *

Okay, it's the moment when the back of your head slaps into the door that you know it's really happening.

God, yes, definitely happening. It's _so_ strange, _so_ fucked up; there are no words, really, other than ... _warm ..._ all that warm blood coursing through you, having rushed in at once, wondering what all the fuss is about, followed by more blood wondering the same thing, and pretty soon you're _there_. So easy, right ? So why has it taken a _year_ ?

Answer ? Because it was waiting. For Maxxie, and his wet, hot, brilliant mouth.

(Is this what is meant by _velvet goldmine _?)

* * *

And then, very quickly, my head's gonna cave in. My hands are two gripped fists and I'm a freely panting, tightly wound ball of tension, a bit embarrassed by the former, I mean, I'm sort of gasping for my life, here, but ... there's no chance of stopping it. Not when Maxxie's intent on altering the course of history.

Oh god. Just let me survive this. Please. _Fuck_. It's _SO good –_ again, no words - I'm shaking, can't speak, can't open my eyes, can't close my damned mouth. It keeps hitting me over and over, this stupid phrase: _'so bloody worth the wait'._

Which is just an insane thought that not five minutes ago I would have slugged somebody over, and they would have deserved it, and yet, _fuck _..._I just never fucking KNEW__._

All along I stupidly thought that when I finally got here, it would all come flooding back, the memories of the many mindless times I did this before, and that that would magnify the turn on, and yet, incredibly, there's nothing back there, in my mind – anymore, meaning, it _has_ to mean, that what Maxxie's doing, putting everything he has into it – love and hope and passion and healing ... has magically wiped my brain _clean_.

Which is _perfect_.

_Because_.

_Everything's __new_.

Meaning, I get to start it all over again, my whole _life_, _everything_,

_from scratch, _

_with Maxxie._


	12. Wooshh !

**Everything right now** is centred _here_, everything is an extension of _this_. For him. For us.

His cock, his poor, beautiful cock, quivering in time to his heartbeat, so thrilled and appreciative at last to be noticed, to not be given up for dead.

Me? I'm just the messenger.

* * *

God it's just ... what can I say ? How can I possibly fucking explain it ? _Unbelievable. _Truly, almost more than I can _stand_. Like being propelled, hurtled forward at a swirling, dizzying pace by magical unseen forces. Everything, everything, is _this_ - this brilliant, ceaseless, swirling/swiveling/bobbing/slipperiness. _Making love to an organ_, I recall him saying. Yes, I now fully understand.

And I'm a little afraid of the knowledge that ... _I'm not even frigging there yet._ What on earth will _it_ feel like- coming ? ? Will my head pop off and hit the ceiling ? No _wonder_ people are obsessed. No wonder I was.

* * *

Really, for a boy who hasn't come in a year ? I mean ... I would've thought it'd at least be _quick_.

But christ, to have been been granted such an extraordinary opportunity ... the final page in what for him must seem a decades-long chapter in the piecing together of his life ... I couldn't be more honoured, _whatever_ else happens, if I can just bring him round ... please ... I promise you, nothing else will touch it.

* * *

I'm aware of my hand searching blindly for the door handle, to steady myself, as my breathing suddenly slows and my lids go all fluttery.

_Holy fuck,_ _this must be it._

Damn ... this is scary.

* * *

Thank christ it's Maxxie, and not some random girl. Thank christ for that.

* * *

At once, his body goes quiet. Oh fuck, we're almost there – I'm so happy I could expire, so proud and pleased and thrilled to bits to even be here, to have played any part at all, and to now be a witness to this singularly momentous event in his life.

Okay, enough with the romantic bollocks. Bear down ... bloody concentrate ... steady, warp speed ... squeeze, stroke, swivel, _suck _... balanced counter-rhythm, clutch his hip to steady him, and yourself.

And here we go ...

* * *

My breathing stops. Am I dying ? My body feels like one long strand of taut wire, through which is about to be fed a dangerously out of control electrical current.

* * *

Up and down and back again; call to the warm bed of semen within. Kiss and stroke and squeeze and swivel and bloody well _suck_. _Do not stop !_ No matter that your jaw is ready to dissolve from the pressure.

* * *

It starts in my toes – a miniature jangly warm tingle, and spreads quickly upward, knees, thighs, hips ... I'm aware of a tremor forming and I'm struck with a desperate thirst, a blinding need that is at once, unimaginably sweet and dirty and awful and filthy and delicious. Like my entire being- brain, nervous system, arteries, lungs, heart, has been taken over and swallowed whole.

_Holy bleeding christ._

In the next split second, I become keenly aware of the ridge of my left shoulder blade digging into the door, the tiny, microscopic fibers and orbits of lights inside my eyelids, each individual droplet of sweat snaking it's way down my back. My tongue feels like wood. My eyebrows are standing on end. I can't quite remember what tripping feels like, but this, may I say, is many miles better.

Okay ... now ... _god _... up, up … to the ceiling, to the sky, inside out and knotted to bits and floating free and … moving … moving …

_... ohgod ...____ oh no ... the wonder and torture of that glorious, stupendous mouth ... _

Get your head out of the fucking clouds, boy, cuz here It comes ...

___I'm floating, corpuscles contracting at light speed, hot and breathless and dying. __Somewhere far off I hear a pained sound squeezing through the hollow of my throat, glancing off the walls … the tingle rises upward, shooting through my thighs and belly and spleen, straight up into my skull which rockets backward … in an instant, my fog-shrouded head quits spinning, like a hand to a rotating globe ..._

_WOOSHH ! _

_Bloody ... _

_fucking ... _

_tsunami. _

* * *

His hips jerk, his whole body jerks and shakes like he's having a stroke; it's so intense, it's downright unnerving and for a second I'm afraid – is he okay ? Is it too much for him ? His brain ? I look up, and watch the great blissed-out storm pass, a sight of unimagineable beauty and magic in itself ... and then he calls out – a sound I shall never forget: piercing, wrenching, like a gorgeous, innocent boy experiencing something beyond his comprehension. The sound fills the room as he jolts over and over ... and I know that I've never experienced anything like this before, this manic a level of devotion and _passion_ for another human being.

* * *

_My god. _

_It's happened. _

_We did it. We really did. _

* * *

After a minute, he pops up off his knees, and stands there, and just holds me ... and it's ... god, so powerful. Just ... unbelievable. There kind of aren't words for it.

I'm sweating and gasping like an arse, in total disbelief over ... _everything _... that Maxxie and I really are here, inexplicably in a room someplace, somewhere on earth, and that he's just granted me this incredible _gift -_ that's how it feels, this bit of wisdom that is utterly rare and priceless ... the keys to the rest of my life ... so fractured to this point, now, at last, I know it, I can _feel _it - made whole.

I'm convinced it's all some fucked up dream, some far off ridiculously over the top fantasy in which I'm happier than I ever could've imagined, and so sated and serene and madly in love I might go crazy ...

* * *

So ... yes, let it officially be known ... that the cliches about fireworks and pleasingly achy post-orgasm balls and huge, weary, satisfied smiles plastered to your sweaty, stupidarse face ...

_... all are true._


	13. But

The room is electric, the energy and light swirling and circling like magic, painting the air around and between us.

* * *

He's gasping for his life, still. I watch, in awe and wonder. I knew his first orgasm after a year without would be a record-buster, I just somehow didn't expect it to look like _this_ ... nor, of course, to be here when it happened.

I move to pull him to the bed but he stumbles a moment, feet caught up in his trousers. He steps out of them, stumbles a bit more, and falls backward onto the blanket.

* * *

Those giant blue eyes bulge outward. Other than the gulping down of big chunks of air, he's quiet.

God. I can't get my head around it. Any of it. How can you feel it so intensely, it hurts ? _Love_, of the type, it's clear to me now, I've never previously known ... not even close. There is something about having brought him across this sexual threshold that has magnified everything I've felt to date, so that I'm almost sick with my feelings for him; desperate for his happiness and well being, while at the same time, experiencing the fiercest sense of possessiveness/protectiveness ...

Again, it was reasonable to expect that such a long awaited climax would be a life-changing event for him ... but for me ?

How to process it ? Tell me which is more incredible: That he's come at all, let alone like an absolute madman; that I played a central role, _or ..._ that we've each admitted we're in love ?

* * *

He speaks finally, slowly, with some effort, voice breathy and rough.

"I just ... I just ... never fucking _knew_."

_God_. Nothing else need be said, really. All along, I've secretly wanted this, for his 'first time' to genuinely _feel_ like a first time. In other words, I didn't want it to result in the dam bursting on all of his buried sexual memories, even if it meant an intensifying, in the moment, of his pleasure.

Because. I've been afraid if that happened, it would prove the final invitation for the return of the old Tony, and, right or wrong ... I didn't want that. I wanted the boy I've fallen in love with, all to myself, even if he didn't love me back. As it stands, however ...

I smile, euphoric, and roll to my side to face him. His breath is calming. His body, still flushed and damp, finally stilling.

He turns his head.

"I just had no _idea_."

I beam, flooded with love and warmth.

"So ... it didn't, like, make you remember, then ... _before, _I mean ?"

"_Before_ ?" He says, squinting softly and, god ... _wow_ ... _reaching for my hand ..._ only to flatten me with this:

"There's no _before_, Max. Everything starts _here_."

* * *

Such romantic bollocks the old Tony would never have tolerated, I'm sure, had it crept into his brain at all. For me, gag-inducing as even I, the New Tony might normally find such pronouncements, at the moment, feeling as impossibly and disgustingly happy and alive and free as I do ... they prove impossible _not_ to say, for instance:

"Let's get married."

He busts out laughing, at this, his face like a million watt bulb. God, I swear I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

"It was _that_ good ?" he teases.

Okay, I was kidding, ... but not by much. The newly awakened synapses in my brain are firing off at a breakneck pace, bouncing into one another and flooding me with several very intense emotions and revelations at once, so that I'm all but mesmerized by, for example, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his eye sockets, the straw-yellow in his hair, the shape and form of his shoulders ... all as I'm hit with a sense of panic at how short life is and that, maybe to an outsider, it might appear, ironically, that I'd lost a year ... when in reality, like the orgasm I just experienced, what I've gained is so fucking good, it's immeasurable.

* * *

For too long, those giant blue eyes blink dumbly in response ... exactly as they did in the early days after he awoke from the coma, and I sit up on my elbow in a semi-panic.

"Tone, what is it ? Are you okay ?"

In response, his eyes twinkle and his face spreads slowly into a huge, broad, exceptionally handsome grin.

Jesus _christ_ if my heart doesn't skip several beats ...

"Ya ... _very_ okay." He laughs shyly. "Speechless."

_Phew_.

"Okay, well shit. Don't scare me like that. Between the rides today and then ... all _this_ ... I mean, I'm honestly a bit worried over your brain."

He turns on his side to face me, and interlaces his fingers with mine. _God, what an incredibly lovely thing !_

"You don't need to worry, Max. Never felt better in my life."

* * *

And so here we lay, gazing at each other, basking in the love-glow, the energy between us so intense it's like a sustained lightning bolt. It's all I can do to not melt into a pile of goo, or grab his face and french him to within an inch of his life. Or both.

"Well," I grin, and whisper. "If coming like that didn't cure the brain bleed, I guess nothing will."

In response to which, without warning, he blurts:

"_I love you."_

* * *

God, it just ... slipped out. Couldn't not be said.

Scary, this New Tony business.

But what can I do ? In a little under thirty minutes, my entire world has undergone a seismic shift, to a degree which dwarfs even the truly life-altering entirety of the last year. And I guess after all the stress of spilling my guts in the first place, I don't fucking want him doubting it, chalking it up to the bloody brain issues or horniness-fueled desperation. In other words, all the things for all those months I kept trying to blame it on, myself.

Also, saying it out loud gives me a genuine bloody rush.

* * *

My heart catapults inside my chest.

_God. It's so obvious, isn't it ? That he actually means it. _

Fuck, how could it _be_ ? Is this really _Tony_ ? _Telling me to my face that he loves me ? _These things don't happen in real life, do they ? Dreams ? Or rather, I correct myself, not even dreams, things that were _so_ never going to happen in your lifetime, not _ever_, that you didn't bother even to fantasize ... and now here they are staring you in the face, holding tight to your hand, looking so beautiful you can't fucking _breathe_.

I'm so emotional, so dumbfounded by it all, it's my turn to be speechless.

* * *

He leans forward a brief second, with mock concern, eyebrow cocked.

"Max ? Y'okay ? _Brain bleed _?"

* * *

He laughs out loud, finally.

"No ... with all that's happened today, I mean ... I guess I'm in shock."

I nod.

"Me, too. Feels good, though."

Really good. Emotionally, I'm over the moon – absolutely beyond the pale. Physically ... my body aches so badly, already, for what it's had, it's unbearable. Like I've been marked, branded, by orgasm.

I reach for him, beyond any ability to stop myself.

* * *

_God. Fuck._ He sinks a hand deep into my hair. We kiss, full bodied, and it's rough and messy. Without hesitation, he rolls on top, straddling my hips and then just ... looks down at me, the helpless urgency, the _need_, so evident in his eyes.

I pull his face to mine and take his cock, already firm and weighty, in hand. Immediately, he's thrusting himself into it ... possessed, transfixed ... _like he must get this out_ ... and then, before long, as I watch, his face, just inches from mine, _sparks_ ... eyes burst open and roll straight back into his skull ... and he calls out, whole being trembling as the powerful quakes rock his body.

He falls, gasping, to my neck.

I slide both arms round and cradle his head.

* * *

For a minute, it's so comfortable, and I'm so physically and like_, meta_physically spent, absolutely on some otherworldly plane, that I fall asleep, somehow managing not to crush him.

"_Sorry_," I roll off, embarrassed, very aware as I do that ... _wow_ ... inside these khakis he's still wearing ... is something quite hard.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize," he says, giddy, babbling away, stretching for tissues from the box by the bed, and turning to wipe the splatter from his chest, and mine. "That was absolutely incredible. You have no _idea. _God, if you could've seen your _face."_

I lay on my side, through the foggy haze of _just after, _processing maybe every other word, waiting, watching him fuss, watching his lips move, wondering how long he's planning to go before answering his own needs, before even _thinking_ of them ... and it's strikes me that it's just so perfectly _Maxxie. _

* * *

The old Tony was a selfish bastard, undoubtedly in the sack, as well as otherwise.

Bottom line, I don't intend to follow in his footsteps.

* * *

He stops fussing finally, and rolls onto his side to face me.

"Y'okay ?" he asks.

* * *

He doesn't answer. Next I know, he's pressing me gently back, leaning on one elbow and running a soft hand down my chest, whispering_"You're absolutely fucking amazing, you know that ?" ... _and silently seeking permission to go further.

Fuck. _Shit_. I'm panicked, my brain bombarded with images of him grimacing and grabbing his gut as I go on and on about _cock_, cringing over all those times when, as a running joke, I repeatedly paused the worst, nastiest scenes from my porn collection, and then called him into the room. "Cock", he would tell me afterwards, "absolutely disgusting, vile, _putrid_."

I speak. My voice jittery.

"_It's okay, Tone. Really. I'm fine. You don't need to, I swear."_

He ignores me, and fingers my belt buckle.

_God. Fuck._ What do to ? Make him stop ? Otherwise, won't the mere sight of _it_ ruin everything ? Instantly flush any gay tendencies from his brain ? Perhaps prove the final reminder that he really _is_ straight ?

"_Tone-"_

I'm fully prepared for it, if need be; I _am_: a lifetime of no-recipro sex. Honest. Blowing and wanking Tony to my heart's content, and then sneaking off for a private solo masturbatory session, afterwards, in the loo ? Yes. I can't think of a single gay boy I know who would turn down such an arrangement.

He's ignoring me, though, belt completely unbuckled, now. _Wait ! __Stop !_

"_Tony !"_

"_-Shut the fuck UP, arsehole."_

* * *

Okay, it's a bit unnerving, I admit, or actually ... sorta terrifying. Of _course_ it is, popping open the buttons to your friend's trousers, as he watches, neither of you really knowing what your reaction's going to be ... and Maxxie's clearly freaked, which isn't helping matters.

Is it ego, or love, or maybe a bit of both, that I don't want his chief memory of this historic day to be that at the scariest moment of all, Tony, despite going so far as to profess his love, and to allow himself to be lovingly wanked and blown, ultimately chose to reject you and run for the bloody hills.

Yes, okay, in truth, a part of me wishes I had an out, because, I mean, _this really is scary._

But.

If there's anything I'm determined to take along with me into the New Tony, it's the Old Bastard's fearlessness, or as Maxxie sometimes put it, his legendary balls.

Besides. I _am_ exceedingly curious.

* * *

However, as it turns out ... it isn't so much me reaching _in_, as _it_ reaching _out_, springing up high from behind the material with a big, friendly _hello_.

* * *

_**NOTE:** The author sincerely requests your feedback and/or a review, else she may die of a broken heart. _

_PS: chapter 14 is in the works ..._


	14. This, Unquestionably

**My face turns six shades of purple.**

"_Sorry. Sorry."_ I hear myself mutter.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize," he responds, eyeballing it.

God, I want to die. Big bulbous thing all veiny and excited for him. Nothing like pussy, all neat and secure and hidden away, not about to advertise it's thoughts or preferences. What on earth must he be thinking ? _'What in fucking hell have I gotten myself into ?' 'How do I break it to him that I need to throw up right now ?'_

Tony might love me, yes, but for fuck's sake, it doesn't mean I can ask him to love, or surely to want _this ... _

_

* * *

_

Okay, definitely weird. Other than enforced glimpses of Max's horrid porn, I've never seen another cock, certainly not in person, nor had a single speck of interest, frankly. Who knew that one day I'd be staring, wide eyed, at my best mate's raging hard-on ... one that, mind you ... _I fucking well caused ?_

Alright, I can't exactly say it's love at first sight, and for that reason alone I guess I'm disappointed. But then, in truth, it's not like I entertained a lot of thoughts about his cock; dreamed about it, or whatever. I've been curious, yes, and have felt, to my vast surprise, general sexual feelings towards him, but I guess I never conjured up any specifics as to what we might do if naked ... and now here it is, staring me in the face, as specific as you get.

* * *

Christ, it's so fucking _strange_ ...

* * *

Not that it's horridly unattractive. I mean, at the moment I can't imagine wanting to put that in my mouth, but it at least seems girthy enough, which maybe isn't surprising. What the lad lacks in height, he's made up for in a body which he's carefully toned pretty much into the Greek ideal. A quick glance upwards, over the tanned expanse of Max's 'best feature' abs, arms, chest, neck, which really are pretty amazing, I admit, I mean, the lad _is_ well cut, confirms this – even a straight guy can see it.

But shit, I'm no longer defining myself that way, am I ? My eyes certainly jump right back down – I mean, it's new, and weird, and does have a certain odd appeal ... and if I'm honest, I'm definitely feeling a growing compulsion to ... what is the word ? _Explore_.

* * *

Thing is, I now know what it feels like, being touched here, and not just what it feels like, what it bloody well _means,_ in your gut, and soul, and marrow, and shit ... when you're exposed, naked, in every way – and there is someone before you, _who fucking well loves you,_ who in a way is holding so much more in his hands than your cock.

* * *

_Oh holy motherfucking christ. He's raising his hand to it. _

"Tone," I squirm, "seriously, you don't need to-"

He looks at me, confused, sincere.

"-Do you not want me to ?"

"_No ... yes ... _I-I mean ... I-I just don't want you to feel _obligated_."

"_Obligated_ ?" His eyes return to _it, _hand hovering close. "Shut the fuck up, Max. Sorta ruinin' the moment."

* * *

_The moment ? ! The MOMENT ? _But ... what can he ... ?

No time to ponder it... hand hovers, shy, tentative ... and I'm stock-still, eyes shut tight, breathless; afraid, on impact, that I will leap through the ceiling.

* * *

What to do ?

Where to start ?

_What if I'm no good ? _

Fuck it. It's not rocket science.

* * *

And then ... _oh fuck ..._ just a soft, cautious, barely-there test caress ... and I swear to god, I almost fall off the planet.

* * *

"_Wow_", I remark out loud. I can't help it. It's ... _smooth_ and warm and weird and ..._ instantly_ reactive, both _it_, and the boy it's attached to, or rather, judging from his reaction ... the boy attached to _it._

_

* * *

_

And fuck me if his hand doesn't feel like warm, silken velvet as it runs, oh-so delicate, once, and as he sees my reaction, twice, upward, agonizing and slow- he's curious, he's _exploring, _remember, and then .._. oh sweet christ _... over the tip ... and I'm choking back his name.

* * *

Christ, talk about plugged in – _fantastic !_ I swear to god, I had no idea. I mean, I'm barely doing _anything_ ..._ and he can barely fucking stand it !_ Brilliant !

* * *

The world flashes in and out in waves, a part of me convinced this is some fantasy, after all ... that this couldn't right now be _Tony_ _..._ sitting here, naked ... diligent and willful as he slowly fists my cock.

* * *

If I had a quid for the number of times I've cursed my nonexistent sexual memories, blaming, right or wrong, that one big blank spot for at least a possible source of the impotence ... only to now be faced with the supreme irony in the realization that ... there's sorta maybe nothing like being, in every way, a virgin.

* * *

Okay, he's pondering whatever he's pondering, and meanwhile .._. I'm dying. _

Straightboys, normally, for fear, I gather, of appearing _fey_, always seem to go at it too hard. Here by contrast ... it's whisper soft – _gah !_ – _unbearable !_ ... drawing it out ... the detail, oh god, the detail – that callused edge inside his forefinger, developed during physical therapy, that provides just that extra bit of rough in the middle of all the creamy velvet ... the curve of the heel of his hand, which proves an eerily perfect cleft, in particular, for the sensitive spots down low ... and up high, the genius, the _key_, of a buttery smooth and loosely cupped, slowly swiveling palm ...

"_Are you absolutely sure,"_ I want to scream, _"that you've never done this before ?"_

_

* * *

_

It's increasingly weighty and swollen in my hand, the more I touch it, which ya, is basic bird-and-bees stuff, but I have to say, _this_ graphic an illustration of that most elemental of human responses, right before your eyes, is indeed, pretty fucking amazing, for any number of reasons, not the least of which being that it makes you feel, and I hesitate to use the term, but, _powerful. _Which I'm guessing was _it_, the clincher, for my former self, the person who once actually read aloud in class a treatise he'd written entitled The Role of Sex in Power Relationships.

Which, I'm happy to report, this is not. The 'power' I'm talking about here is that it's making me feel ten motherfucking feet tall to be able to return the favor, to be able to bring him pleasure at all, even in this small way.

'Small' in that nothing I could do could possibly equal what he's done for me, tonite, and for all time.

* * *

My head raises off the pillow, holds there a moment, and flops back down, turning, twisting, muttering, drooling, biting the sheets.

_Did you know it, instinctively, or is it that it's obvious ? Or, did you just sense it ? Are you one of THOSE people in bed ? _

_Or is it that I once admitted to you, among the many, relentless times you grilled me about my sex life, that _slow _was my very end-all, be-all, numero uno secret favorite thing in the world that, out of a desire to appear more badass than I actually am, I'm usually too embarrassed to request ? _

_

* * *

_

What a fucking _life_ I'm living, that I'm right now doing this, _creating_ this crazy buildup of energy and tension and heat and _mayhem_ in another person. It's written all over him, how tight he's wound, fists gripping, little agonized squirmings and moans that escape all attempts to keep his mouth shut ... the way his balls _jump!_ and his cock twitches and dances, and that I can actually feel, are you ready ? _his pulse inside it,_ meaning ... christ: it's _jammed _full of blood, packed to the hilt, at any moment ready to burst, to shatter his brain like smashed crystal ...

* * *

_Soon_ ... oh yes ... oh _god, soon ... _toes twisting, brain a washout, balls gathering, tightening ... _quickly ... _Does he realize ? Does he understand that if this keeps up, I mean ... am I ready for this ? Seriously ?

_For coming right in front of Tony ?_

_

* * *

_

In the back of my mind are all his words for it - joystick, happystick, and, my personal favorite: _bang_stick , which normally make me laugh, but in the middle of it all is something so, just, _heavy, _majorly epic and like, so cool and beautiful it genuinely defies description, defies all it's crude nicknames – defies maybe even human understanding.

Okay, I'm getting a little flowery here, which is maybe what happens when you almost die at age 17, and as much as you've adopted the concept of taking things – everything – for granted, like _everyone_ around you does, a part of you can't ... won't ever be able_, _for example, to _not_ be effected by the sight of someone you love twisting about helplessly on the mattress ... blinded by need and sensations so intense and life-affirming_,_ he has no hope of remembering his name.

* * *

I'm moving with him, clinging to the last edges of sanity ...

"_Fuck ..." _

"_Shit ..._"

"_Ohfuck ..."_

"_Ohmotherofshit ..."_

Why must pending orgasm make one so embarrassingly inarticulate ?

* * *

_Holy motherfucking christ _... it's fucking _leaking_ – _completely_ forgot about this ! Droplets of pearly fluid oozing from the tip, meaning ... he's right on the very edge ! Fuck ! _Wow_ ! Guilty, proud, excited, freaked, thrilled. I stifle a nervous laugh, wanting to step back and watch the fireworks ... as if stopping now was any option.

* * *

... squeeze/smooth/sweet/flick/flutter/burn/_hum_ ... up ... along the seam, melodic, over the veins ... grip, _there, there ..._ _silk_ ... thump ... _there_ ... upward, to the crown ... over ... up ... _yes, there _... over ... up, over ... up ...

_whiteout ..._

_

* * *

_

_Shit_ ! There go his hips, unmistakable, his back, arching up off the mattress ...

* * *

... My _head_ ... _my head ..._

is

caving

in.

* * *

... sharp intake of breath followed by a weird strangled stuttering noise ...

* * *

... brain melting ... heart hammering ...

* * *

... something indecipherable I don't recognize ...

* * *

... My signature just-before reverse overheated _whimper_ ...

* * *

... face beet red ... veins busting out of his neck ...

* * *

... Blood charging through my veins like a steam engine ...

* * *

... head snaps back, eyes cross ...

* * *

And ... _gaaaah_ ... _here, here ... blinded ... brain short circuited, white hot ... melting ..._ fuck ... fuck ... _FUCK ..._

... SCREAM ...

* * *

... _shouts_ _out_ _loud ... _cock vibrating, face contorted, whole body thrashing ... and ... holy motherfucking christ I can _actually_ _feel_ _it shooting out of him _... tremors ... white hot spurts, again, again, again ... high in the air in crazy random arcs, messing my hand and landing everywhere ...

* * *

Holy _fuck _... thighs, toes, balls, convulsing, shaking, twitching through the aftershocks ...

* * *

... until he falls back to the mattress, dead weight like somebody hit him, glassy eyed, spent, wheezing.

* * *

Tell me again ... was it me, or _him_, who hasn't come in a year ?

* * *

Wanked stupid and brainless ... stunned ... no clue who or where I am, lids weighty, and through the curtain of my lashes ...

... yes it's true ...

There sits _Tony_, pale and wide-eyed; glowing like the moon.

* * *

_God_ ... I'm just ... christ, speechless ... heart bloated, so heavy with what just happened. It's the love, it has to be, that makes everything so intense.

* * *

There is easy to love, always popular Just Before, and then there's the far more complicated, potentially disastrous, make-or-break state of Just After, in which you quickly learn What's Going On Here (If Anything),and more importantly, What He's Really About.

Indeed.

Is the bloke immediately buckling up his trousers and making excuses ?

And what about you ? Having had this glimpse into his soul, or vice versa, are you disappointed ? Uncomfortable ? Regretting it ? Wanting him to leave ? Wanting to run quickly from the place yourself ?

Or is it 'even' ? A quickie ? Both of you got what you wanted and let's-not-pretend-it's-anything-more ?

Particularly precarious and treacherous is the state Tony and I are in right now: First Time, Just After, When You Both Believe You're In Love. To which I will add the frightening post script:

And You're His Very First Boy.

* * *

I stare; it can't be helped. He's seriously to me right now just such a fucking _vision_ ... so frigging catastrophically beautiful, like nothing I've ever seen; eyes alight, body burning, a tangled, frazzled, wasted, gorgeous mess.

Suddenly coming to mind is a line from a song, I think called, aptly, The Tower of Learning, by this gay singer guy, Rufus somebody, that Max likes:

_'All the sights of Paris _

_Pale inside your iris.'_

_

* * *

_

He says nothing and his face is maddeningly hard to read – he's wide eyed, but who knows if that's wonder, or love, or disgust, or embarrassment, or if he's maybe right now stifling a need to vomit, or worse, to laugh.

How awkward; how scary. I mean, his reaction to this is pretty much going to define what happens from here on, if anything – with _us_, I mean.

I want to speak, but won't anything I say at this point be very much putting him on the spot ? What would I say, anyway ? _So how did I look just now while you wanked me off ? Just how badly did it gross you out ? _Or simply, _are you sure you still wanna do this ?_ Or even, _do you still love me ? _Surely at this very early stage we're well within the 'no questions asked/ return for a full refund' period, no ?

An old lyric by my new favorite singer Rufus Wainwright, that I hope is _not_ apt, comes screaming to mind:

_'Save your poison for a lover who is on your side.'_

I lean, without a word, and nervously yank out a tissue.

* * *

If there was ever a test of a man's 'straightness', this, unquestionably, would be it.

I watch the path taken by a single tissue as it makes it's way across the torso of a beautiful, damp, panting boy I love, whose perfect, heaving torso is being mopped of the still-warm come that covers it ... down a jutting hip bone ... dabbing at pubes ... along the bumps of his abs ... up his neck ... over a pair of firm, honey-brown nipples ...

And fuck, if it isn't leaving me a bit of a bloody train wreck.

Why? Why is this peeling my eyes back ? I just saw him do this same thing a minute ago.

A minute ago the world was different; you hadn't yet witnessed Maxxie in the throes of orgasm. You were in a haze; you'd just come yourself for the first times and all you could see was the glory and the love.

At the moment, now that they've been duly woken up, you're seeing him, for the first time, _with your balls._

* * *

I blink. Yes. As if watching him come, _making_ him come wasn't enough, what he's doing right now is so far gone erotic, so feral, so flat out _raw_, that the brain can't entirely take it in, can it ? The nether reaches, however, completely understand, have maybe long since understood, it was just _you_ that got in the way, of the quite obvious fact that Maxxie, the center of your world, is at the same time (you lucky bastard), a searingly hot motherfucker.

One that, right now, you must have.


	15. The Portal

**Without a word**, while I'm cleaning up, he leans in, close, and ... freezes, just looks_ ..._ for the longest time, eyes traveling my face like he's trying to piece something together_, _to understand_, _to maybe _decide._ About what, I'm not sure – me ? 'Us' ? The whole gay thing ? If he wants another round ?

It's just a bit unnerving, in that it feels in a way more intimate, this concentrated inspection - like he's never seen me before - than maybe anything we've done. Tony's eyes, just by virtue of their enormous size, have always been particularly expressive – and because I've spent so much time with him the last year, I can easily read his mood in them, but as they finally meet mine, with the air between us still sparking and crackling, I see something in them I don't recognize and can't fully name. All I know is, the blue, midway, right now, between indigo and violet, is on_ full _fucking beam, like maybe I've never seen before, intently scanning, focusing, looking _inward_, past the lens, which is both hot, and a bit disconcerting, as if he's scanning your brain for secrets.

Finally, without a word, he pulls away, and leans down, the inspection having apparently concluded, and tucks his face beneath my ear, and then ... _sniffs_.

_What the ?_

"You smell ..." He offers, matter of fact, and just when I'm about to be annoyed with this unnecessary and certainly unromantic observation, he completes the sentence ... "like _sex."_

I chuckle. He's a very weird boy sometimes. I reach, bring his face to mine, and cup his jaw.

"There's a very good reason for that, Tone."

* * *

Fuck. Okay, his _hand_ ... _on my_ _face_ ... _not anything he's ever done before_ ... thumb caressing, face open and inviting ... _god_. It really does scream something, doesn't it ? That we've absolutely passed through the portal, from friendship, from two ordinary, if close, mates, to where we are now: _people who touch each other in intimate ways. _And I'm not talking genitalia.

People screw all day long, right ? And blow and wank. And for many of them, I'm betting, it's routine, or maybe even, meaningless- a quickie, a way to get off (not that I'm against getting off, being rather fond of it at the moment), but compared with the power and beauty and magic inherent in _this_ ... this simple, wordless transmission of what is maybe the most potent and intoxicating message out there:

_I love you _

_I care what happens to you _

_What we're doing isn't meaningless_

* * *

Fuck, it's just ... I'm completely floored, here, the sexual urge leaving me, left in it's place a chest flooded with love and mushiness to the point where if I open my stupid mouth, out it will come, a bloody goddamn greeting card.

* * *

However ... I will try to refrain from boring Maxxie to tears with these revelations ... especially where, at the moment, for all my lofty thoughts, I'm already wanting him again, I mean, come on, that _scent_ ...

* * *

He doesn't respond, just returns his face to my neck again, not for a sniff this time, but rather a great, deep inhalation.

"Tony," I giggle – it does tickle a bit, "what the hell are you _doing_ ?"

"I told you," he responds from somewhere in the neighborhood of my clavicle, "you fucking smell like _sex_".

"And I told _you_," I tease, "there was a very good reason for that."

"No, that's not it," he responds with assurance, leaning up to explain. "It's not from getting off. You're so hot, you radiate _sex_ all the time, it's just that I never noticed before."

* * *

My brain freezes.

_Tony ... _

_... TONY ..._

_... thinks ... _

_... I'm hot. That I, in fact, 'radiate sex'._

He just fucking said it, right out loud, to my face, as natural as you please.

* * *

Okay, I haven't exactly been unpopular with the boys, and in fact, have been informed of my 'hotness' on many an occasion, however never dreamed, of course, that one day I would hear these words from _Tony, _who as far as I'm concerned, at any given moment up to and including the present, _is_ the hotness and the beauty in the room.

* * *

I raise my hand to it again, this magnificent face.

"I think you got that backwards, Tone."

"No I don't," he whispers, lowering his lips to mine.

"Yes you do," I say into his mouth, at the last second.

He stops short, lip against lip and I can feel his grin.

"No. Trust me on this. I _don't_."

Just as his mouth makes contact, gripped with a sudden surge of desire and playfulness, I push up, and flip him back, rather gracefully and handily if I do say so myself, into the mattress.

The look of shocked surprise I get as I move to straddle him is priceless.

"Jesus _Christ_, Maxxie; I thought you were a _bottom_."

I bust out laughing.

"Why do you never listen ? I _told _you, I'm what's known in gay circles as _versatile,"_ I whisper, pressing my lips to his and flicking out a bit of tongue. "A rare breed; highly prized."

He processes this a moment, kissing back, before stopping to speak.

"So you're telling me all those muscle men-"

"-Let me control the pace, sometimes, ya," I answer, biting down on that luscious lower lip. "Not all the time, I wouldn't want it _all_ the time, but I mean, I can't blame them. Bottoming and like, being told what to do in bed, and stuff, can be very freeing, not to mention scorching fucking hot."

* * *

I gulp. Or try to.

_Being told what to do in bed._

My throat's suddenly so dry, it sticks together before pulling apart.

_That is maybe the single hottest thing I've ever heard._

* * *

I guess I just never thought of it, 'bottoming', in those terms. I took it literally, that it referred to a preference for taking it up the arse, the thought of which still holds zero appeal for me, I must admit.

Christ, it's a never ending world of ironies for the New Tony, though, is it not ? For if there was one thing the Old Bastard _was_, it was a bloody frigging _top_, all day long, and now here is Maxxie, having flipped me over like I weigh nothing, resting his cock into what a second ago wasn't, but this instant, has gone hard.

* * *

Umm, okay, I don't wanna embarrass him, but it seems I've inadvertently struck a nerve.

I move my face along, kissing and sucking and biting little bites along the way to his ear, into which, when I reach it, I ask,

"How does that sound ?"

"Um," he swallows, "what ?"

I can't help myself, I then have to rotate a hip forward, gliding my cock into his, and ask again.

"What I said, Tone."

"Um," coughs, this time, "I-I don't know."

"_You don't know ?" _I ask, with an emphasizing thrust.

* * *

Okay, I've maybe discovered my first perversion here – I'm allowed, right ? I'll be embarrassed later. Right now I'm stung so hard I can only grab his face and _plunge_, tongue circling, pressing, _wanting, _as, sweet christ, those hips thrust into me, our cocks hot and hard and dragging, and it's so fucking dirty, the feeling of it. Just so nasty and good.

* * *

And then Tony's moving with me, lifting his hips just so, and I spit on my hand and smear it against us and we start over, slow grind, cocks catching and slipping in the wetness, and he's _so fucking sexy like this_, it's crazy, mouth open, shameless, dark pink and swollen from kissing, and I just have to say it, I just have to.

"Stop."

His eyes fly open.

"Wha- ?"

I lean, forehead to forehead, look directly in his eyes, and tell him.

"_Stop moving."_

He does, instantly.

I then shimmy out of my trousers, taking my time, folding them neatly in a pile on the floor, and return, twining my fingers into his, pressing them back into the mattress on either side of his head, and _grinding_ right into him, harder now, our mouthes a wet, deep, furious tangle.

* * *

Fuck. _Fuck_. And fuck, again, as his hips makes the most insanely hot swivel and return. The most delicious thrill winds it's way through me like a snake, coiling, slithering, and I'm a mess, letting him do this to me, pinning me and owning me and I'm helpless to keep still; I fling my hips up urgently, incapable of holding back, and for a minute, we do it, mashing and gliding messily, cocks catching and missing and rubbing into stomach and hip and then Maxxie's on one elbow, spitting again and lowering a soiled hand to grab the pair tight, _to give us a hole to fuck through, _and it's so hot and I'm _so __close_ my mind cuts out and it doesn't register at first, the bite of teeth against my lower lip, the words grazing my mouth telling me to_ stop fucking moving and let him control the pace ..._ and then it's cold air, empty and naked, hips bucking uselessly, and my eyes fly open in confusion, and he's right there, in my face.

* * *

"Turn over," I tell him, dizzy, in fact, insane with need, but letting myself get carried away with the role playing. (Yes, Tony, there _are_ a few things I successfully kept secret from you, at least in the sexual realm.)

He looks at me in confusion and disbelief, eyes half lidded, the blue darkened with want, but also a touch of fear ... and then I realize.

I lean in and whisper, gently cupping his face.

"I love you so much, Tone. We'd never do anything you're not ready for."

* * *

Lost in his eyes, brain a hopeless foggy mist, I turn, slowly, muscles shaky, bones creaking, and lay hips down over the pillow he sets out, a careful space left for my aching member, and what he then does with his tongue almost makes me swallow mine.

* * *

Little painted kisses and licks, gentle against my balls, and then a clutch of hands to spread me, and the mattress sags as he climbs between, laying out his body, flat to the bed, lowering his head to taste and tease more, turning his face to suck and, worse, to _suckle_ the sac, pulling each ball in tandem ... and then both at once ... and then just the papery flesh _all the way into his mouth_ which makes me _jump_ off the bed, and, as if it isn't good enough, he starts bloody _talking_.

"_So incredibly hot, how turned on your are, how much you want this."_

"_FUCK !" _Is all my brain is capable of articulating.

And then the bastard starts asking questions.

"_What if I reached round right now and stroked you ?"_

"_Oh god."_

"_What would happen ?"_

"_COME – instant !"_

"_Do you want that ?"_

"_YES !"_

"_I don't. Not yet."_

Oh sweet motherfucking christ, he's a _mad man_. The devil, all this time Maxxie Oliver, masquerading as a mild mannered dancer and queer, was in actual fact, _Satan ..._ _and I never fucking knew it._

I mean, the kind of hot he is right now is _illegal_. _Has_ to be. All while he sounds so maddeningly _calm_, like we're having an ordinary fucking conversation here, like his tongue isn't right now circling my balls, like his mouth isn't _right this second_ a wet, airtight seal, sucking and teasing, lips circling, owning me and making me thrust shamelessly back towards him, with each return motion meaning ... I'm, over and over, _fucking the sheets_, and ... god, oh no, oh shit, _don't know if I want this, don't know if I can handle this_ ... working it's way deliberately north, and at the last second I pull back, too scared of this ... but he follows, and with a single flick into the hole ...

I'm _gone_, screaming and thrashing, face first into the pillow, coming so hard my body's gonna split in pieces.

* * *

I'm flying, so euphoric to have taken him down this wicked road, to have brought him to literal screaming orgasm, I want to shout and leap up and hop round the room like an arse, spinning and dancing in the air.

A small part of me, however, says to keep still, let him fucking _sleep _already, I mean, this _is _his third and by the sound of it, most powerful orgasm of the day; he _badly_ needs rest. Yes, just lay here quietly until he drifts off, which shouldn't take long ... and my own cock will maybe stop aching long enough to let me answer that need over there in the loo, whilst Tony slumbers peacefully.

"Where the fuck _are _you ?" he asks, voice withered and worn, as he turns on his side.

"Right here," I answer, joining him, beaming ear to ear.

His face is pink, still, weary, sated, eyes shining, lids drooping, neck and chest sweat soaked and smeared in his own ejaculate. He doesn't seem to notice.

"How come you're so hot ?" He asks, speaking slowly. "How come I never knew this about you ?"

I snuggle close and kiss him soft.

"Cuz. It defies description."

He laughs a gorgeous, exhausted laugh.

"Yes, it does", he responds, gently cupping my jaw this time, and _god_, it's _so _amazing that Tony would do this ! That he would feel _comfortable _with it, that he would _want _to ! "You sort of have to see it," he continues, "to fucking _live_ through it, to believe it."

As he leans forward to kiss me back, something catches his eye, below, and he reaches.

"I'm alright, Tone. I'll take care of it. You should sleep. Seriously."

"No. After. I want to. _Let_ me."

He raises his hand, and rather than spit, instead_ licks his whole palm_, the sight of which, sweet _jesus_, makes my balls twitch _bad ..._ and it's not long from there, it can't help but be, when your man is in love with you like this, when he watches your face and times it to the rhythm of your breath, when he stays with you through it, breathing it into your mouth, willing you there and whispering his love along the way.

* * *

_The author would like to thank reader and reviewer extraordinaire Lizzy384 for editorial assistance with this chapter._


	16. The Opposite

**Author's note: In an effort to enhance clarity as to whose POV we are hearing, just wanted to mention that I've put double breaks between Maxxie's and Tony's sections, (even though I personally think it's less fun that way), as a reader said it can sometimes be hard to distinguish one from the other, and I'd rather that not be the case.**

* * *

**.**

**It's still there**, even before I awaken, the lazy, lopsided grin, the one you get when it's morning, and there's an arm, still, wrapped tight round your waist, a body curved towards you in an impossibly wonderful spoon-embrace.

I gather it to me, twining my fingers with his, and snuggle down for a few more hours' slumber ... when my eyes bolt open.

Mother of Jesus, that is _Tony_ behind me.

* * *

My brain flashes like a bulb. Yes, there he is, outside the club, looking unwell, pacing, uncomfortably confessing. There am I, spilling my longest held secret.

_Flash_. Holy bleeding christ, there we are, snogging against the club wall ... groping in the lift ... sweet motherfucking shit, there is my hand, my _mouth ..._ _on his cock_. _There we are, writhing naked on the bed _... somewhere all in the midst of which, he told me, twice, yes, he _actually_ said it ... _that he loved me. _

* * *

Morning, now. Okay, not quite sunrise, but still, before long, heads will have cleared, no ?

What will happen ? What _should_ happen ? Can Tony really have switched gears ? Just like that ?

Okay, yes, there's been a mountain of change in his life since _Before_. Eons. So why not this ?

* * *

Of _course_ I want to believe it. Of _course_. Fuck, I mean, it benefits me in every conceivable way, does it not, to have as my boyfriend, my all time best mate, (and a strikingly beautiful one at that) ? What's not to like ? They say the roots of the strongest love relationships begin with deep, close friendship, correct ?

Straight boys have been interested in the past. It seems like they always have been. I am _that_ fetching.

* * *

Me. Me. All me._ What about Tony ? _

* * *

Is it not my duty as his friend, which is what I am first and foremost, to argue with him and challenge him, as I told myself last night I would ? To do what's right for _him_ ? Because, I mean, he's not entirely there, is he? Meaning only that ... he's _evolving_, or has been, the last year, and while yes, straightboys have come my way, it has been of the quick-wank-and-don't-look-him-in-the-eye variety, hasn't it ? With nary a major life trauma nor sexual deprivation, far as I know, preceding it.

_Fuck_.

* * *

No. _Please_. I _want_ to believe in that pained, earnest face outside the club, so hurt that I'd doubt him ... _so_ leaning into the kiss; hell, fucking taking the lead, in fact. I want to believe ...

What ? That he kissed you, and ... what else ? Wanked you ... exactly as straightboys have. _Tony did nothing they didn't do, _these guys that meant zilch to you, that were never going to be or mean anything. Obviously, it was strictly sex, for them. A willing, eager hand, and in one instance, if you recall, a mouth.

Okay, I'm good in the sack – it's well known. Now that I've re-introduced Tony to this world, or as far as he's concerned, _in_troduced it to him, is it possible it will colour his reasoning; cloud it ? Can he really be expected to know himself, what he's saying or feeling, in the midst of the swirling, dizzying, capsizing storm that is arousal and sex ?

* * *

_Flash forward_ ... and shudder, for there are all the shocked, disgusted faces of everyone back home; mum, dad, Tony's mum, fuck - _Effy! ..._ the questioning, the accusations; people looking at me funny at school, in the street. If we indeed were to couple up, who amongst them won't believe I somehow _swung_ Tony my way, schemed and manipulated and took advantage of the beautiful brain damaged being ... perhaps planned it, with utmost care and precision, all along, _maybe even from day one_, ... as if I was capable of such a hideous thing ?

* * *

I meant well, last night. Of course I did. He's been despondent. Practically suicidal. And when he got hard, finally, suddenly, I mean, _there was kind of no other choice._ I did him a favour, out of love, bringing him across the threshold; won't people see that ? It had gone on long enough, bloody impotence. I did what anyone who loves him as much as I do _should_ have.

Yes, you're a selfless hero, Maxxie. Such a _sacrifice_ to suck Tony off.

_Fuck . You._

Okay, maybe that was harsh. But understand that he hardly owes you his life for it.

_I'm not asking for his life ! I'm asking for his ... love._

Yes, just that one small thing.

_Okay, yes, even if one isn't permitted to ask for such things. _

It's ironic, is it not ? That'd you'd be so presumptuous. This could all be a moot point, and you know it. Because ultimately, no matter how true your feelings may be, it's hardly going to be _your_ decision, is it ?

* * *

I look off, stressed, freaked, wanting immediately to wake him up; wanting desperately not to.

* * *

.

* * *

I wake up at some point, groggy, exhausted, having momentarily forgotten everything, and squinting and stumbling, manage to find my way to the loo for a piss. When I return, it all hits.

There, in a tiny sliver of moonlight, lays Maxxie, on the bed - the same one I just exited. See ? Over there - the other bed's still made. Which means, Maxxie and I slept together ... which means ... sweet frigging Jesus, _Maxxie and I are like, lovers. _

(In the far corner of my brain I hear him snap. "It's _boyfriend_, or _fuck buddy, _arsehole ! 'Lover' is what old, sleazy queens say !")

* * *

_What the fuck happened ? How in all hell did this become my reality and not some fucked up 1960's acid trip ? _

I back up, hand fumbling blindly for the chair behind, onto which I collapse.

* * *

I look. He's splayed out, snoring in a soft rhythm, eye sockets at rest, all that blonde hair he works so hard at, twisted and tangled, holding the pillow, which had once been under his head, in a tension death grip against his chest.

Okay. Come on, brain, bloody _work_. Somewhere inside you is a reaction.

Revulsion ? Is there any revulsion in there ?

Well, isn't there supposed to be ?

What exactly in fuck is my _inclination_ ? To run ? To crawl right into that bed, next to him ?

Any why would that be ? How did we come to this, that I'm ... what ? Past girls ? For real ? Actually _gay_, now ? Tits ? Done with _tits_ ?

But I don't wanna be a _poof_ !

* * *

I look again, and it slams home: _Christ, he's beautiful_. How can anybody be so perfect ? Skin ? Jaw ? Neck ? Shoulders ? The bridge of his nose ? That sweet little wrinkle he gets between his eyes when he's angry or deep in thought ... that tawny half leg sticking out from under the sheet ... those fine, soft blonde hairs on that bronzed forearm ...

The images come. The sensations ... holy _shit_, the sensations. Maxxie, the gay magician. Bloody _air_ felt different. Smelled different. Him. Everything. I blurted it, twice, christ, how could I not ? My deepest, darkest secret. After _all_ the time and energy I spent – wasted – fighting it, all these months, denying it. _Pretending_.

* * *

_But I don't wanna be a poof ! _

* * *

You complete arsehole. How about using that big brain of yours, for once, to maybe define your terms, huh?

Think about it ! _If being a 'poof' __means being with Maxxie, then ... ?_

* * *

I squirm about in place.

Why ? Why does it have to be so bloody scary ?

* * *

Now's your chance, then. This is what morning afters are _for_. Specifically designed, in fact, for excuse making, for not looking the other party in the eye. For a quick, (un)clean exit.

* * *

I squirm and fidget further.

* * *

You're hiding. Why in fuck are you hiding ? Answer it, goddamit, the central question:

_What is your inclination, here ? What is going on inside that wonky brain of yours ?_

* * *

I fly out of my seat.

_Fuck _my brain, motherfucker; what about my _other_ organ ?

No ! Not _that_ one, fucking perv - that _other_ _one - _thumping out a steady rhythm inside my chest, inside this pale, grotesquely scarred up torso that it turns out ... only Maxxie has eyes for.

* * *

Helpless and freaked, I watch him, for ages, the glowing, golden being on the bed, knowing all along_ ... that I know the goddamn answer ..._ I'm just too afraid to admit it.

* * *

Indeed. As the song says,

_Love is a frightening way to fall._

* * *

.

* * *

I awaken with a jolt, to loud banging in my head. For a moment I'm lost, forgetting all over again ...

"Room service !" Someone yells, banging on the door again.

Holy bleeding christ, okay, that's right, we're in a hotel, aren't we ? Brighton. My eyes fly to the clock. 8am. Far as I know, we went to bed after 3. We didn't actually order it, did we ? _Breakfast_, when we checked in ?

Yes, I remember now - _"we're hardly going to Brighton to sleep"_, I told him, and so we poured over the menu, giggling and ordering the most expensive things, including, if I remember right, _caviar_.

Bang bang ! _"Room service !"_

I pop out of bed, "Just a sec !" and scramble for a towel, which I throw round my waist and then sprint to the door. Damn room's so _big_.

Slowly ambling in is then some antiquated, dilapidated bloke in a uniform that was maybe classy in 1912, struggling to push this rather garish, top heavy cart into the room. "There you are, sir", he tells me in friendly tones ... before his eyes zig zag to the dark haired, disheveled boy in the bed, then to the adjacent still-made bed ... then back to me.

Only barely concealed is his extraordinary discomfort at having found himself in the middle of a couple of naked queers. _Maybe they were even doing it when I knocked on the door._

"Thank you," I tell him quickly, but the old bastard hesitates. Oh shit, I'm supposed to _tip_ him. "Um, just a sec," I say, diving for my trousers on the floor by the bed. _Were they ripped_ _off his body in a wild, gay frenzy ? _

On the bed, Tony stretches and yawns out loud._ "_How's the weather ?" he croaks to the guy, all casual, cheerfully adding, "Cuz we haven't seen the outside of this room for _two whole days_", and then, as the man stammers and fidgets, he goes and stands bolt upright, stark bollock naked, strolling confidently to the cart and lifting the heavy silver lid to examine our food.

"Christ," he says to me as he leans over, a hand flying to his buttocks. "Are you sore ? _I'm_ fucking sore."

I shoot him the evilest possible eye as I hand the man a pound – _you arsehole, don't torture the old bastard _– but before the poor bugger can scurry from the room, Tony grabs me, nuzzles into my neck and calls me his "_little_ _bitchboy_".

The door shuts with a hurried slam and he bursts out laughing.

"You're _evil_ !" I shriek, "_Why_ did you do that ! ?"

"Cuz," he says, voice gravelly, sniffing my neck and nipping at my ear.

I pull away from him.

"We need to talk."

* * *

.

* * *

"Remember when you said to me the other day, that you didn't wanna be responsible for my ending up an old maid ?"

"Um, ya," I answer nervously, sitting on the edge of the bed whilst he for some reason sits down on the one opposite, which I'll take as a bad sign.

"Well, I'm sort of feeling the same way this morning, about you."

I squint. _Christ, what, is he going to try and force Marie on me, again ?_

"Meaning what, exactly ?"

"Tone, as your best friend and especially as somebody's who's been your main caregiver the last year, I have a responsibility to watch out for you and sort of ... at least _try_ to steer you down the right path."

"Chrissake, Max, I'm not _six_, and you're _not_ my frigging _mum_."

"No, but ... I think we should talk about this. Last night. Where it all came from, and all that."

_And all that ?_ Like the biggest confession I will ever make was some sort of _afterthought_ ?

"_Why_ ?" I snap. _Is he seriously breaking up with me only an inch into this ? ?_

"Listen to me, Tone. I'm trying to understand this, trying to figure it all out and do the right thing, here-"

"-You _always_ do, don't you, Max ? ! Sometimes I hate you for it ! How about for once, going with your _gut_ ? Ever thought of that ? Were you _bullshitting_ me last night when you said you loved me ?"

"No !" He snaps. "Of course not !"

"Well, neither was I !"

"But it doesn't mean it's the right _thing_ for you, Tony, don't you understand ? It doesn't make _sense_ that you'd suddenly turn _gay_, that you'd fall in love with a _boy_, can you not see why I would question that ? !"

I bolt upright.

"You arsehole ! You _still_ don't believe me ? !"

"It's not a matter of believing you !"

"What is it a matter of, then ? Huh ? Enlighten me !"

He fidgets, seeming to not want to spit it out.

"You've been ill for a lot of the last year, in case you forgot."

"Yes ! _Mentally_ ill ! What does that have to do with anything ?"

"Will you stop yelling please ? I love you – I meant what I said."

"So did I, only you won't motherfucking _believe_ me !"

He flies up and stands in my face.

"Tony, for fuck's sake, what if _I'd_ been hit by a bus, and then I came to you suddenly and said I'd turned straight, overnight. After 17, 18 years of being into _boys_, I was now suddenly totally into _women_."

"I never said that ! And it wasn't _sudden_ and it wasn't _overnight_. I told you ! I'm not even into _boys_, just _you, _unfortunately ! You said straight guys have come onto you lots of times !"

"But this isn't _that_, is it ? This isn't a come on !"

"No ! I only _wish_ it was ! It's _way_ fucking more ! Scary and weird as it is, un_wel_come as it may be, _I'm in love with you, Maxxie, and there's nothing either you or I can do about it ! _I've _tried_ ! For fuck's sake, you think I haven't ? Believe me, at least about that !_"_

"I _believe_ that _you_ _believe_ you're in love with me ! I just don't understand how it could _be_, and as your caregiver I'm perfectly within my rights, considering you've had a very significant brain injury-"

"-A _year_ ago !"

"-A year's nothing, arsehole ! You _know_ what the doctors said – it can take a bloody _decade_ to completely recover !"

"But I'm at 92% !"

"Exactly my point ! You're _not_ fully recovered !"

"Well then," I snarl, livid, before I can stop myself, "you'd better get _in_ on it _now_, then, huh ? Before the old _straight_ Tony fills up that available 8%, and kicks you away from his _dick_ !"

The arteries in his neck _jump_.

"You're _disgusting_ ! _NO one_ has been a better friend to you than _I_ have ! I've _cared_ about you enough _all this time_ to put _you_ _first_, and you _KNOW_ it, so don't you _DARE_ imply that I ever _have_ or ever _would_ take advantage ! !"

Fuck. Fuck, he's so right. Christ, why did I say it ? !

We stare, the both of us red faced and shaking from the emotional exchange. God, I'm just _cringing_ over what I said. I want to fall to his feet, over everything – the indisputable purity of his intentions – which were never, ever in question ... for fucking _healing _me, last night - _which I fucking owe him my life for ! _- for his almost annoyingly unwavering devotion and companionship in general, when I can't even say myself that I've deserved it, as evidenced by this very conversation.

"I'm sorry", I blurt. "I'm a total cunt. I take it back. I didn't mean it, that last thing. I'm just upset."

We sit, evaluating the other's face, unsure, each of us, where this is going.

Slowly, too slowly for my liking, an idea is carefully wending it's way through my brain, bypassing the damaged bits, and by the time it arrives, I'm pretty sure it's The Answer.

That ... this argument, for both of us, has actually been about something rather small and base, and in fact, ridiculously easy to overcome. _Not_ about each of us disbelieving the other, _not_ about rejection, even, but, simply, _fear_. That he's as scared as I am about the prospect of coupling up, and really ... why shouldn't he be, if he feels even a fraction of the terror I'm feeling, of actually diving in here, full bore, of spilling your soul and meshing yourself with somebody else - _even more than we already have_ - all while knowing that the risk is there, however small, that the weaker of the two brains could, in fact, do a sudden, reverse back flip ...

Can I know _myself_ that this won't happen ?

Scanning the rickety grey matter ...

Truthfully ? No.

But then ... my brain's not exactly been my best ally the last year, has it ? So ... maybe it's time I bypassed it ... switched allegiances, to, indeed, that _other_ organ ... let _it_ lead me around for a change.

No, not _that_ one, arsehole. The one mid-way between, faithfully pushing the blood through my veins in a steady, nervous rhythm ... the only one that can rightfully be blamed for what is, in truth, the very happy mess that Maxxie and I find ourselves in.

* * *

Sigh. So it's true, then:

_Love is a piano_

_dropped from a four storey window_

* * *

.

* * *

"Max," he says, speaking softly and crouching to look up at me with those warm, intelligent eyes, "please, I'm begging you to trust me on this. I've frigging _vetted_ myself already – put myself through the bloody ringer. I didn't _mean_ for it to happen. Honestly, I didn't _want_ it to happen, especially at first – it scared me to pieces. Fuck, I'm _still_ scared out of my wits. But here it is. I can stop it like I can stop a train: _I really do love you _– in all honesty, I'm sort of _madly_ in love with you, if that doesn't freak you out too bad."

_Holy mother of god. How on earth to maintain composure ?_

"And y'know what ?" he continues, "I'm _not_ sorry about it, I swear, no matter what comes of this. But ... if it's not something you see happening – you and me – if it's too risky or whatever, I mean, you've got _way_ more experience with this stuff than me; if you honestly think it's best we back away from it, then we will. We're really good at being friends, Max. We can do it, even if it'll maybe be awkward. Cuz, I mean, truth is, it's not like I'd be any prize, as a boyfriend; I know I'm an arsehole a lot of the time. And it's not even like I can guarantee you I'm always gonna feel this way, even though I've felt it consistently for 3 solid months, now. Fuck, I don't even remember what it felt like, before." He smiles, open and honest, and _god, those eyes are on full beam again_, the blue bright and glowing, almost hard to look into ... _"I guess I sorta haven't been able to see past you"_ ...

And it's too much, a pin to my heart, a sweet sting piercing the swelling there. The water shoots to my eyes and I grab him and throw my arms around, almost knocking him to the floor in the process.

_"I love you so much, Tony._ I _believe _you; I have all along. I was just trying to protect you, to give you an out. I don't _want _us to be just friends. I love you too much for that, way too much to ask you to lie, to pretend and play games. I don't want that. I want _you_."

We hold each other a long while, and it's, just ... god, _immaculate_, this moment, incredibly beautiful and poignant, like nothing I've ever experienced. I can feel his heart banging inside his chest, and wonder if he can feel mine.

"It's scary though, huh ?" He says.

I nod.

"Ya," I sniffle, "But that's okay."

"Ya?," he says, sounding unconvinced.

"Ya, cuz," I continue, "it feels totally right, in my heart."

"Shit." He nods. "Mine too. Ya, totally." And after a beat: "S'weird, isn't it ?"

I laugh, feeling the tension of the morning lift.

"Yes. Slightly."

"Phew. Well shit, we got all _that_ outta the way, then," he laughs.

"Yes," I laugh with him. "Just that one small thing."

We part, and look at each other, and I'm moved to see that his eyes have watered, too.

"So would it be unromantic, then," he asks, taking my hand, "or anticlimactic or whatever, if we sat down right now and _ate_ ? And planned out our day together in Brighton ?"

_God. _Absolutely breathtaking, the sound of it; ridiculously romantic. _And he doesn't even realize. _

I kiss him once, pull back, and tenderly caress his face.

"_No. Not at all, Tone. Believe me. The opposite."_

.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Re the two things Tony quotes from:

_"Love is a frightening way to fall", _is copyright circa 2002, Eddie Vedder's live rendition of his incredible song "Longing to Belong" (tragically and inexplicably, he's altered this lyric, and significantly weakened it imo, in his just-released version of the song)

_"Love is a piano dropped from a four storey window", _is copyright 1998 from the great Ani DiFranco, from her song "Two Little Girls" off her album "Little Plastic Castles"

* * *

**PS:**

This author thrives on reviews, and positively withers without them.


	17. Five

**Over breakfast** of now mostly cold chocolate chip pancakes and caviar (with Maxxie the little health nut having his usual strained, low salt tomato juice and egg white-only veggie omelette), we talk. And I have to say, I'm _so_ frigging relieved it hasn't changed things, all this bloody love business – that it hasn't robbed us of just being mates.

"So," he says, as I guzzle down my chocolate marshmallow milk, "I have to ask. When did you first know ?"

My eyes raise.

"Know ?"

"How you felt, Tone."

"'Bout what ?" I ask, cheekily.

"The _weather_. What do you think, arsehole ?"

"Oh, _that_." I say, cutting though the stack of pancakes with the side of my fork, just to annoy him. ("Use a bloody _knife_, cretin !") "Shit," I continue. "That's easy. I can tell you the exact day."

"No you can't," he snorts.

"Yes I can. Or maybe not _day_, but _moment_. We were at your house. We were discussing monks, remember ?"

"Of course, Tony." He says dryly. "Like it was yesterday."

"Fuck off. This was only 4 months ago."

He stops cold.

"You told me 3 !"

I grin.

"Well, I may've been off in my calculations a bit, here and there."

"Jesus," he says, looking off in disbelief, "you've been in love with me all this _time_-"

"-Shut up. Let me tell the goddamn story. I was at your place talking about monks' clothing and haircuts and shit, pretending I wanted to become one, so convinced was I that I would never get my manhood back."

"'_Man_hood'," he says laughing at my word choice, half choking on his food. "You stupid arsehole."

"And anyway, you were ignoring me, as usual, so then I wanted to annoy you to make you pay attention – which always works, by the way, so I hit you with the usual Russia/cocksucking question-"

His face lights up.

"-_Oh _! I remember this !"

Christ, he's such a gayboy.

"Guess I said the magic word ?"

"Fuck off. No, I do ! Because we were in hysterics, remember ? I nearly pissed myself. And if I'm not mistaken, that was when I leaned over at some point, and -"

"-Kissed me dead on the lips, yes. Which you'd never done before, or I would've decked you."

"Yes, so what the hell happened, then ? How on earth did this become your _moment_ ?"

I shrug.

"Fuck if I know. Proverbial bolt outta the blue. Just a peck, really, but it totally did the trick."

"Well I certainly didn't mean anything by it. It was just spontaneous."

"Ya, I know. But for some reason it was like, the dividing line, or whatever. Couldn't see straight after that. Totally harrowing experience."

"Thanks, Tone."

"It's true ! For a straightboy it _was_ harrowing."

"All I remember is you were weird for a long while after that. I kept kicking myself, because in my mind, what I'd done had so obviously made you uncomfortable just to be around me – _that's_ what I thought all the awkwardness was about."

"Nope !" I grin like an arse.

"Which, y'know, was highly inconvenient, seeing as I was your full time bloody _nurse_."

"Ya, well, whatever. It was _your_ frigging fault."

"So then what happened ? What was going through your mind ?"

"Just .. fuck. _Confusion_. Fear, for sure. Y'know ... bewilderment. Totally threw me for a loop. Couldn't right myself, that was the scariest thing."

"Specifics, though, Tone. What did you think was going on ?"

"I didn't _know_, Max. I was in an anxiety-stupor half the time, spending all my energy trying to extinguish this bizarro _crush_ thing – that's what I thought it was. Some inexplicable crush brought on by excess cumulative stress due to my screwed up head, or sexual deprivation, probably, or too much time in the presence of a gayboy. I gave it every name in the book."

"I bet."

"First few weeks were the worst-"

"-Wait. You didn't _actually_ think it was caused by exposure to me ... ?"

"Maxxie, don't take any of this personally, fuck's sake. I was scrambling round in a panic, desperate for answers. Every five minutes I had a different explanation. I'm sure I would loved to have blamed it on you, if I could've, but I ruled that one out pretty quick."

He grins. "Of course, I _am_ rather fetching ..."

"Shut up. Anyway, it sucked at first, especially - couldn't look you in the eye. I was too afraid you'd, like, _see_. Then when I _did_ look you in the eye, I mean, _could_ you see anything ?"

"All I remember was you acting weird. Not yourself. You were nervous and tense and then you'd be all giggly and shit."

I nod, wolfing down the last of the bacon.

"Yup, ran the bloody gamut. But then, I have to say, for a brief while I had sort of got it under control, which was like, _phew_ ! I mean, it never went away _completely_, but I slowly got better at _managing_ it, that's what it was, because, I mean, otherwise I was gonna lose my frigging _skull_. You have no _idea_ what I went through, Max. And then fucking _Bill_ has to come along ..."

* * *

.

* * *

I wince at the sound of his name, suddenly acutely aware that the poor man had been right all along; that I'd been unknowingly and unintentionally using him, thoroughly decent bloke that he was, as a Tony substitute.

"What about him ?" I ask innocently, though I think I know the answer.

"What _about_ him ?" he says with sarcasm, "you tell me, Max."

I go to open my mouth but he cuts me off.

"Fucking hated his guts, every time I saw him with you, every time I _thought_ about it."

_Good Christ ! __Out_ it frigging comes !

"Tony ! Shit !"

"I know. I _know_ it wasn't his fault. I _know_ he wasn't a bad guy, and all that. It was just _jealousy, _plain and simple. We were both in love with you."

I put my down fork with a clink. _God_, _I can't really be hearing this. _

He looks.

"What ?"

"Waddayu mean,_ 'what' _? Christ. How am I supposed to take this in ? _Any_ of it ? It's just ..." I sigh. "Absolutely unbelieveable."

He reaches for my hand, and speaks softly.

"I know." He looks over at me. "You still have time to go back to him, y'know."

My neck snaps.

"_What ? ? What are you talking about ? !"_

He shrugs. He half grins.

"You don't know this, but I was actually planning it. When we got back from this trip, I was gonna try and get you and he back together."

I look at him, flabbergasted.

"But _why_ ? If you hated him so much ?"

He shrugs.

"Cuz. What did it matter what _I_ thought, Max ? He was _your_ boyfriend and I felt guilty cuz he was good for you, Mr Perfect and shit, and I was obviously in the way. You've done all this innumerable stuff for me the last year, and ..." He sighs. His eyes focus. "Tell me the truth. I was semi-responsible for you guys splitting, right ?"

_Christ ! How can he ... ! ? _I look at him, speechless.

"Knew it." He says.

"Tony it's ..." I sigh. "I didn't love him. That's really what it came down to."

"He would've been better for you than me," he deadpans.

Sweet Jesus, the things he is _un_afraid of saying, at times.

"Don't be an arse, Tone. That's not true. You're amazing and I love you to pieces. He was lovely. He was sweet, but I didn't love him at _all_. I never did. I told you."

"You could've fooled me. For a long time, you couldn't speak a single goddamn sentence without mentioning his name."

I look at him. He's not ... ?

"You're not jealous ? Still, I mean ?"

He shrugs. He seems embarrassed.

"He _had_ you, Max, and he was good in the sack, from what you said, _experienced_, and like, im_ag_inative and shit, _and_ built like a motherfucker." He grins shy. "What was there to be jealous of ?"

I touch his hand.

"That shit has limited value, Tone. I promise you. It can only take you so far."

He looks at me.

"But, I don't exactly measure up, do I ?"

God, he's just blowing my mind, here.

"_Total_ _bollocks_, Tone. You're fantastic. Super hot. You'd never even _touched_ a cock before, and last night-"

He shakes his head slowly and smiles in disbelief, the same reaction I got on the beach when I tried to pay him a complement.

"I'm _not_ like the guys in your sketch pad."

I leap right on this.

"You're _in_ my sketch pad !"

"No – I _know_ I am, Max, my _face_. I'm talking the _filthy_ one-"

"-You're _in_ the filthy one, boy !"

"Huh ?" he squints.

I laugh in delight.

"Remember the latter sketches ? That one tall, slender guy that didn't look like the rest ? Who do you think that _was_ ? !"

His mouth swings open and hangs there.

"You're bullshitting !"

"I'm not !" I laugh.

"But ... _shit_ ! _Shit ! _There's like a dozen of those ! Fuck ! I had no _idea_ !"

"Of course you didn't ! And it wasn't like I could tell you. And holy shit, was it nerve wracking when you flipped through those right in front of me."

He looks off, mouth still ajar.

I'm so tickled at finally revealing my secret _and_ paying him a humongous complement in the process that I feel a surge of boldness, push my tray aside and move to sit across from him.

"And I have another shocker for you. Wanna know when I realized I didn't love Bill ?"

"When ?"

"The night of my birthday. He said it; he told me he loved me, and instantly I just felt ... flat, inside. Empty. And I was embarrassed for him, and I felt sorry, cuz it was so obvious I didn't feel the same – but I couldn't pretend – I'm a horrid liar, and then you know what he immediately told me ?"

"What, Max ?"

"_That I was in love with you."_

"Get out."

"I'm serious."

"_Bill_ said that ?"

"_Yes_. That it was obvious, and that I didn't even realize it myself, which was only partly true. I mean, I knew I had strong feelings for you, for a long time, longer than 4 months, shall we say ..."

He grins, tentatively.

"How long ?"

"More like 10."

"Fuck off !" he shrieks. "No way !"

"It's true ! In the beginning a lot of it was just general stuff from hanging out with you so much and seeing all you were going through - watching you struggle and relearn everything. It was impossible not to be blown away and moved, Tone. But then pretty early on it developed into a rather strong crush, shall we say, because, I mean, you're so goddamn funny and smart and gorgeous."

"_Jesus !"_ he bellows, hand slapping the bed for emphasis. "I'm a _stick_ ! A mangled up string bean ! A babbling _freak_ with a head injury !"

"Yes," I grin, "you're _perfect_."

"Maxxie, fuck's sake, I'm _serious._"

"_So am I."_

"No. Come _on,_ stop it; you could have _way_ better than me. You _have_ had."

I shimmy closer and push aside his tray.

"You're exactly what I want."

He looks at me, dead serious.

"Maxxie. Listen to me. I know you're in love, and all, so you're not seeing straight, but I gotta tell ya. I gotta be honest. You're _settling_. Total fact."

* * *

The more he resists, the more innocent and alluring he becomes.

Which makes it so that I just _have_ to prove him wrong.

* * *

I climb up, kick over the tray, sending it crashing to the floor ... "Max !" he shrieks. "What the ! My _plate_ ! My _coffee_ ! All that _syrup_ !" ... and straddle his hips ... "What are you _doing_ ! ?" he asks, startled/giggly ... _which is just so fucking hot._

"Exactly what I want," I tell him.

* * *

I lean in and hover a moment before planting a single chaste kiss. His lips are sticky-sweet from the syrup.

"That's how I kissed you that day," I whisper, and pull back to look at him. "Right ?"

His eyes are softly shut, mouth pink, and waiting. "Ya," he nods quickly, licking and parting his lips in anticipation.

_Fuck_.

How is it that 'sexy' can be so potent and present in such a small, subtle gesture ? How is it that I've never seen it before, that it's taken me a lifetime, during which I've worshiped the obvious and the oversized, to be able to recognize it ?

And while we're at it ... _How is it that I've bloody well got Tony Stonem simultaneously _in_ love with me, _in_ my bed, and _in_ the palm of my hand ? _

* * *

I lean close, thread my fingers up into that beautiful morning mess of hair, and, with trembling lips and thundering heart, paint the words against his mouth.

"_And this is how I get to kiss you now." _

I press forward, licking him open, circling slow, tracing lazy swirling patterns, marking him with tiny catlicks like he's oozing dripping honey ... and he tilts his head and opens wider, letting me all the way in, lips wet and wide, tongue meeting mine, dancing and darting, sucking and suckling like we're sharing hard, sweet candy, and somewhere in the midst, it happens. Tony lets out a breathy, involuntary moan.

Translation: _that tastes like more._

* * *

Wholly unconnected, is it, with the _need_ he had last night, the fog of desperation he was in, to finally experience release. He's wanting this right now,_ in and of itself,_ it appears, wanting it to go on, wherever it may lead.

Which ramps everything up by about a million percent.

* * *

Incapable of anything otherwise, I grab him, this achingly innocent, madly sensual being, and thrust my face at his, making rough, demanding swipes of my tongue, and then we're fighting, teeth clicking, devouring each other; ravenous at the scratch of stubble, at the hot slide of soft, slick skin.

* * *

.

* * *

And then, as the volume is turning up on my body, he pulls off, plunges into my jaw, my neck, dives for my ear, and he's _threatening_.

"I waited a whole year," he says, voice shaking.

It doesn't click at first. Too busy squirming at the shock of my flesh being repeatedly kiss-bitten ... ear, neck, collar bone ... and then it clicks.

"_You said 10 months !"_

"I _lied,_" he responds, sliding south and proceeding for the next several minutes to torment and abuse my nipples like they belong to him ... tonguing wide and flat and pointed and _flicking_ ... humming in strong, tickly, vibratory tones ... sucking so hard I can feel it in my toes ... caressing and palming and strumming with splayed fingers ... pinching and twisting and nipping and grazing with his teeth, making me, over and over, gasp and jump in place ...

"A whole _year _you made me wait ... during which I was _meticulous, _do you understand ?"

_Um, no, Max, but whatever you do, keep talking_, I think, as the sensitive flesh here, and below, leaps alive in surprise.

"I never allowed myself to think about you – in that way," he continues, eyes hazy with want, making a brief, fierce return to my mouth, before abandoning it for good. "I never let myself picture you, Tone, while I _fucked_ somebody ..."

_Holy motherfucking shit, _the images flash: Maxxie, hips a blur, tanned skin sleek with sweat, wildly plowing some random, quivering piece of arse.

"... _or when I touched myself."_

_On no. There is Maxxie, alone and aroused, hand smoothing out the flesh of his cock, face pinched, tongue darting repeatedly, as it did last night._

"I always made sure to call out the right name," he continues, hungrily licking and nipping his way south, "... but all along,_ it was_ _you_."

_Gulp. How ... could ... this ... be ... Maxxie ? !_ The kid I pal around with, the kid I thought I knew _everything_ about ... and here I've somehow missed it, fact numero uno: _that he's the hottest creature walking this earth_. That I could've had him all along – this creature that is frying my brains, oozing boiling hot SEX from every pore ... sheer madman with an evil tongue, pointing and darting, now, repeatedly, into my navel ...

"A whole _year_ you made me wait," he hisses, edging further south. _"And now I'm gonna make you pay."_

_Oh my fucking ...GAH ! ________... _I can't take it anymore ... ! _My best mate, talking to me this way ... doing these cruel and evil things so that I'm left half mad, fire winding through my veins, stomach a tight, miserable ball of anxiety and torment_ ... _and he hasn't even touched the aching lump under the sheets ..._

* * *

Without a word, as if reading my mind, he backs up, lowers himself onto his forearms between my legs, mouth hovering close ... and my breathing stops.

"I'm gonna make you come five times today," he announces to the material, or rather, the thing beneath it.

Before my brain has had a moment to catch up, to even begin to process this truly startling declaration, he hits me with this:

"No, not today, this _morning_."

"_Five ? !"_ I finally blurt, releasing the pent up air in my lungs. I'm not exactly impotent anymore, but ...

"Five," he says assuredly, raising his eyes to mine, which for the first time ever, I don't recognize. The blue, normally bright and clear, normally cheerful and good natured, having gone dark with sheer, unabashed lust.

* * *

Holy blithering shit. _No one has ever looked at me like this, threatened me, told me with their eyes and made me KNOW it - that they're going to rip me to shreds, that last night was just a teensy morsel, a crumb, from the steaming banquet they're going to make of my body, that I'm to be owned and ruled – conquered – and right away, until I don't anymore know the English language._

* * *

What happened to that guy who used to be a _top_ , for fuck's sake ? Total alpha male that I apparently was ? And what about _Maxxie_ ? Isn't he more naturally suited to bottomhood as he several times told me (and has apparently forgotten) ? Especially considering that he's in possession of the world's most perfectly formed, smooth, round, tanned, luscious bubble butt ?

* * *

_Oh my god. _

_Oh my sweet bleeding Christ._

I'm noticing his arse.

_I'm noticing his arse._

That's it, then. The final sign, right ? That, holy motherfucking shit ..._ I am so totally gay, now,_ an out and out _homo_ ... so far gone enough down this road, apparently, that there will be no turning back.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, processing this rather unnerving realization.

* * *

I blink.

Do I even _wanna_ turn back ?

Would I _actually_ choose that right now, I think, as I watch Maxxie lower that hot, sweet, brilliant mouth ...

* * *

As he makes contact, the two-letter word that forms the answer is standing tall in my mind; bold, glowing, capitalized, italics, in hugest font ... and like sex itself, universally understood.

* * *

.

* * *

I'm so excited, _so_ badly wanting him I'm shaking, and have to force myself to slow down. There is something in Tony, of all people, that, inexplicably and in a huge way, is bringing out the top in me. I suppose it's simply that this new version of him is effectively a virgin, which is absolutely just so gorgeous and hot and wickedly delicious ... but I'll work that all out another time.

At the moment, somehow the gods have seen to it that I'm to lay here between his pale, sheet shrouded thighs, with Tony, stark naked underneath, helplessly looking on ... which only adds to the frisson.

* * *

I reach out a trembling hand, and with soft fingers, trace the male shape through the sheet, which, without thinking, I find myself prodding, leaning and rubbing my mouth and face into, which feels so base, so filthy and wicked, and which almost immediately causes the mildly faint outline to become more prominent ... which serves to provide me with a more clearly defined target, and then I can help myself not ... I toy with him ... flicking a finger, over and over, into the tip, sending miniature palpable shockwaves through his body.

_Flick_

Shiver

_Flick_

Moan

_Flick_

Curse

_Flick_

Writhe/moan/curse

* * *

_Holy motherfucking christ_, laying 'tween Tony's legs while you deliberately put him through the slow, sensual wringer ... ? _How on earth is this actually happening, this thing I could do every remaining moment of my life_ ... that I would _pay _to, in fact ... that is, if it weren't for my suddenly rather active salivary glands.

* * *

I lean in low, tilt my mouth to the side, and meeting his gaze, promptly suck a ball inward, a practice I admit I find as natural as breathing ... and it doesn't seem to matter to Tony that it's indirect, that it's through the material – he squirms and writhes and gushes out hot, low, disbelieving moans, and does so again and again as I continue ... cupping and gently tugging one in hand, while the other gets the full suction treatment, and then swapping them out, or taking the two at once ... until he's writhing like a jellyfish, feet twisting about on the mattress behind me, face mashed sideways into the pillow, hands reaching out blindly.

Oh god, it will drive me mad, driving him mad.

* * *

Something just north catches my eye. The glorious _tip_, having swollen just enough to poke past the top of the sheet.

_Holy sweet MOTHER I want that._

You've had it.

_Can't possibly compare it to last night, which was strictly pedestrian – a direct path leading him to orgasm with no stops whatever for torment or window shopping._

Yes, we agree - as alluring a sight as there ever was, but shit _calm down, Max_. Do _not_ scare him away. And fuck's sake, _do not bite him here._

* * *

.

* * *

He leans up, and, along with me, simply looks at it. I want like mad in this moment to rip the sheets free, to throw him down and fuck the brains from him ... but feel somehow in the midst of complete sexual paralysis, or is it hypnosis ? Either way, something in me seems to need to let Maxxie take the lead; to, how did he put it ? _Tell me what to do in bed._

* * *

Goddamit, I should be embarrassed, shouldn't I ? Mortified that Maxxie, my best mate, knows these things about me, has in fact, so easily _created these needs in me._

* * *

His face is mildly flushed, eyelids matching mine for weight, voice calm, gravelly.

"_I'm only allowed to lick what's exposed,"_ he has the nerve to say, eyes twinkling with randy mischief, licking his own lips and not waiting for my response ... head instead, lowering quick, and then ..._ ohgod_ ... _oh sweet mother of jesus_ ... warm and wet and strong, lapping directly into what I now recognize as the epicenter of _Cock_ – the meeting place of seam, ridge and slit, the geography of which, of course, Maxxie knows by heart ...

_How could I possible be this lucky ? _That the first sex partner I have, and I'm right now actually praying it will be the last, _is a human bloody dynamo_, a steaming sensual cyclone, causing me to wriggle about shamelessly on the bed, so much so that he has to hold my hips in place with both hands, which, really, is just so embarrassing ... but then, I don't have time to think about it, do I ? I'm wound so tight, I'm _so_ on edge, that every second that tongue makes contact - _and I'm not even inside his mouth_ - a two trillion volt current is shooting up my spine.

* * *

"_Only what's exposed,"_ I hear him repeat, as if I can stand to hear more ... and then he stops, allowing me a moment to breathe, probably afraid I'll otherwise expire ... and when I look at him, with the plan, I suppose, of pleading for mercy, there are his eyes focused downward still, absolutely suffused with want, and as I follow their line ... yes, shit, sure enough, _more of me is ... _my poor tormented cock having swollen and grown, reaching for his mouth like a seedling toward the sun.

* * *

I lay my head back. I can't bloody watch. And, expecting warm and wet, I feel instead, the soft underpad of his thumb, gently caressing veins, seam, the edges of the ridge ... back and forth, here, back and forth ... and it's nearly unbearable, I may quite possibly die, after all, ... and then the evil bastard speaks.

"Right here," he whispers, fingering the sensitive join, "I'm gonna make tight, wet circles with my tongue."

_Mmhghhhh ! _So help me god, I'm with a bloody _witch !_ A wild, raving sexual _lunatic_.

He continues, voice steady and slow.

"And tease you for a while ... maybe a long while ... would you want that ?"

_ARGHGHHHH ! AS IF I COULD SPEAK RIGHT NOW ! _

_"And then_ _I'm gonna take you in my mouth, Tone ... and it won't be long from there, will it ?"_

_AS IF I COULD ANSWER WITH ANY SEMBLANCE OF A SINGLE SOLITARY SPECK OF DIGNITY !_

"And then we'll be down to four."

_NO ... NO ... _

_NOT POSSIBLE ... NOT POSSIBLE-_

The words catch in my throat, or mind, rather, for he's right away making good on his promise ... or is it _threat_ ? That devil tongue conspiring against me and swirling in small, spiraling concentric circles, and just as I'm helplessly slipping down the funnel ...

* * *

.

* * *

... I take it for the first time from it's resting point against his body, and in one smooth motion, swallow the world's most beautifully formed piece of human anatomy ... digging into the slit, savouring sea salt, swiveling slow ... slow ... humming out low, vibrating moans in my throat ... clutching softly pleading, softly bucking hips in a failed attempt to keep them still ... and, as promised, very shortly thereafter ... quietly pulling the orgasm from him ... and holding him through the after-tremors until he flops, weightless and wasted, to the bed.

.


	18. But, No

_Okay, my pretties, __**feedback re the new chapter, or any others, would be sincerely appreciated. What do you like ? Dislike ? Too graphic ? Not graphic enough ? Too schmaltzy? Not enough romance? Is it relatively realistic, overall ? How about the balance between POV's? Enough ?**_

_Thank you._

* * *

**_"Trying ... to ... kill ... me,"_** he murmurs, semi-coherent, eyes opening and closing with effort.

"Go to sleep, Tone," I tell him as I cover him with the blanket.

"_... to murder me," _he mutters sleepily.

"_Shhh_. Go to _sleep_."

This is two-fold. He does indeed need to rest. After four thundering orgasms in a little under six hours, anybody would.

But also, I need to address the issue that's arisen_ (ahem)_ behind this towel that's somehow still wrapped round me, and I once again don't want Tony to feel obligated. I want to set it up _now_, in the early stages of our relationship, if we are actually to have one, that it not involve a sexual quid pro quo – _I'll do you, if you'll do me – _which I just hate. Dreadfully unromantic. This is _not_ a business arrangement, and in my opinion there is nothing wrong with finding enjoyment in bringing your partner to orgasm (or vice versa) – and then letting him roll over and go to sleep, from time to time. Not _all_ the time, of course, but ...

I guess I just want it to feel natural, with no obligation on either side, just pleasure, and giving pleasure, and the pleasure it _gives_ you to give pleasure, if that makes any sense.

* * *

Thing is, oral's always been my thing; sort of my number one, and, seeing as I fancy it so much, I tend to be inordinately enthusiastic, apparently moreso than the norm (from what I'm told) ... so it can tend to seriously tax my partner – blow him away, so to speak - and consequently send him hurtling off to dreamland in record time. So it tends to interrupt the flow, (so to speak), or the magic of it, to have the bloke half falling asleep while he's trying to return the bloody favour – out of _duty_, or worse, fear that you'll spread through the community what a lousy, inconsiderate lay he was.

No, I will not have anything of the sort between Tony and I.

_Tony and I_.

FUCK ! ! !

* * *

No worries, for the lad's fast asleep and already snoring. I climb carefully from the bed and turn to watch.

It's surreal, still, that here lies Tony, naked and twisted in the sheets.

How long before I can look upon this with anything but disbelief ? Before I can accept it for what it is ? A wonder. A miracle dropped from the sky. But real. Very real.

* * *

But it _is _almost too good, isn't it ? That I and my best mate would fall for each other; quite madly, as it happens. Magic, it turns out, is possible, inevitable, even.

Inside me is some high, airy aria. Something celestial. I'm floating, light and free, with ill will towards no one. Have I ever felt pain ? Has anyone ever wronged me ? Called me queer ? Disowned me ? All of it wiped clean by this one thing:

_Love_.

* * *

I look. He truly is a sight to behold, in his disheveled, snore-y raggedness. I could remain here forever, gushing over each pore, cheekbone, _eyelash ... _finding nourishment, complete contentment in doing so.

* * *

Through my mind travels the mushiest of love quotes; for the first time, none of which I'm finding the least bit so, all in fact causing a spark of recognition:

_"Here are fruits, flowers, leaves, and branches, and here is my heart which beats only for you."_

_"What I feel for you seems less of earth and more of a cloudless heaven."_

"_What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies between us." _

Okay, and this one, too, even if it requires a small set of pronoun tweaks ...

_"He walks in beauty,  
Like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in his aspect and his eyes."_

* * *

He shifts on the bed, inadvertently exposing a well-bitten nipple ... and the poetry flies from my mind. In it's place is Liz Phair:

_I want to fuck you like a dog,_  
_Take you home and make you like it_

_Hair's too long and in your eyes,  
Your lips a perfect 'suck me' size_

_Everything you say is obnoxious, funny, true, and mean  
I wanna be your blowjob queen_

* * *

I shift a bit behind the towel.

* * *

For all our many endless discussions of brain issues, I'm reconsidering mine: It's a vessel, I realize, to which, this last year, has been introduced a slowly seeping poison ... or is it antidote ? A succulent liquid called _Tony_, which has been entirely absorbed by the spongy tissue ...

* * *

_Did I mean it when I told him five times ? _

Answer ?

_Yes._

* * *

I turn, and, finally answering the ceaseless ache from below, sneak off to the loo, and it doesn't take long, as for the very first time, _he_ is on the brain.

Yes, it's true; I haven't allowed myself to picture him. Because. It would have been grotesque given my responsibilities to him, let alone practically akin to masturbating to thoughts of your own brother, given how close we've become. So, much as I may've felt myself veer on occasion, I veered myself away, just as quick.

But ... no longer. Yes, picture it. _Enjoy_. That _mouth _for heaven's sake. That long, lean, lovely pale body. Those exquisite, hypersensitive nipples (hee hee lucky me !) Those long, elegant fingers (yes, far as I'm concerned, that's _his_ down there right now, and not my own.) Holy shit the _sounds_ he makes; that gorgeous part hiccup/mostly moan when I plow the depths of his navel, the plea in his eyes when I tug gently on his balls, when I take them into my mouth ... the way his hips undulate as the orgasm hits him in waves.

Not to mention that perfectly gorgeous little bottom ...

_Damn_.

Mostly though, it's the Goods. Yes, a handsome collection has he. No, not huge, but then I've had huge, and frankly, you don't bloody want it near you. _Ugly !_ Yes, cocks can be ugly – certainly the larger ones I've encountered have been - even a gay man can think so.

No, there is nothing quite like handsome plumbing. I'm talking form, shape, texture and colour. Taste, too. (No, not come. Let's face it: _nobody's_ tastes good – don't believe the porn). Somehow so far Tony hasn't even tasted like _piss_, which I don't quite understand.

So okay ... yes, you are now permitted: _visualize_. Um, _god_ ... okay, here we go ... Tony ... _fuck_ ... okay ... yes ... Tony ... eat, yank, flick ... _Tony ... _lick, suck, fuck, _grind _... ahh ..._ guh _... wuh ... nnghuhh ... _Tony ! _

_Swoosh ! !_

* * *

_Fuck,_ I think to myself as I clean up ... _that_ was fucking scrumptious, and right quick; what, 15 seconds ? Is _that_ the impact tossing off to him is going to have ?

I turn for the door, relieved to have dealt with the issue, if only because it means I get to hurry back to his side.

* * *

.

* * *

I'm groggy, head swimming and half asleep when I feel him slip back to bed, all warm and soft and naked. He rolls towards me, lays a hand across my chest, and nuzzles into my neck.

Goddamn. Goddamn.

_It's just so wonderful._

It just fucking _is_.

Who knew love could make you feel a million feet tall ?

Let alone sexual satisfaction ?

(That I even know what sexual satisfaction _is_ ...)

(Okay, and not to boast, but does anyone know it like _I_ know it right now ?)

Frightening indeed to think that we've only barely scratched the surface, there. I mean ... what in hell will _fucking_ feel like ? ? God knows my hips haven't forgotten the motion. And my dick's twitching a bit, even now, at the thought of plunging someplace warm and snug and deep.

Fuck knows his arse is beautiful.

Gulp.

_Goddamn_.

_How is it that I feel not a smidgen of shock or unease at the realization that I'm even pondering such things ? _

Was I really ever straight, then, if I'm _this_ fucking gay, now ?

Or maybe it was lurking beneath the surface all along ? Old Tony was macho, fuck knows. Would he have had the guts to admit to ... ? Yes, he would. Max's told me as much, that had I been queer I would've been downright obnoxious about it, flaunting and happily plowing my way through all of boydom, I believe is how he put it.

* * *

Why must these blank brain spots persist ? All things sexual, and for some reason all memory of _everything_ occurring for the six months or so leading up to my accident. Brains are fucked up, unpredictable things when knocked around inside skulls, I guess. Too bad we sort of rely on them for everything.

Good thing I've decided to let that _other_ organ rule me.

(Which was what, again ?)

* * *

I turn to kiss his forehead.

"Y'asleep ?"

He raises his head to give me a fresh morning peck.

"No."

_By god_ ... it's just magic, the feeling. Like frigging aromatherapy, or something. An infusion of vital nutrients. And fuck me all over again, if he isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed, and especially sexy with his face a bit flushed like this.

We do it – it can't be helped - we fucking well gaze into each other's eyes for god knows how long. Ordinarily something that would make me puke, and yet it's positively hypnotic. His eyes, at the moment a fantastic shade midway between slate and sky blue, really are a window, a wide open, terribly alluring and inviting one, which compels you to want to step out onto that ledge and_ let go _...

Phew. If you weren't careful, trust me, you'd be totally fucked.

* * *

Out it tumbles, the words too thick for my tongue, for either of ours, it turns out ...

"_I love you,"_ we each blurt.

There is then a brief pause, followed by a mutual burst of embarrassed laughter.

"Oh my god," he says, "we are _so_ gonna make everybody _sick."_

I nod.

"Can't wait."

* * *

He lowers his face to lay it on my chest, and snuggles up tight.

"I never, ever thought I'd be here."

With _me_, like _this._

"Shit. Me either. In about a kazillion years."

We lay there another moment before he speaks.

"I have to admit something, though, Tone."

"Um, okay," I answer, tentative.

"I'm slightly worried - about going home."

"Hm ? Why ?"

He fidgets a bit.

"I just ... I have this fear people will think I, like ... _turned you gay_, or whatever. That I set out to do it."

_Huh ? ?_

"What are you talking about, Max ?"

He raises himself up onto one elbow.

"Think about it. You were a total blank slate. And you've spent the vast majority of your time, all this time, with _me_, an out, raving homo. _Then_ I go and invite you on holiday, all expenses paid, the two of us sharing a room ... and we come home afterwards, a _couple_ ?"

_A couple._ Holy shit. My brain is momentarily stuck on this phrase, before moving on to absorb the main, rather unsettling point he's trying to make.

"But that's just so fucking ... _grisly, _Max. Nobody who knows you would actually believe-"

"-Your family ? _Effy_ ? Are you kidding ? She'll wanna beat me to a pulp."

_For taking advantage_, is what he leaves unsaid, and I'm once again hit with nauseating guilt over having momentarily accused him of this, myself.

"I'll explain it. Right up front. Whole thing. To everybody."

He looks skeptical.

"But what will you say ?"

"_That I fell in love with you, _Max_. _What else can I say ? That it wasn't your bloody _doing_; if anything, it was mine. You wouldn't have made advances. It was _me_ that had to cross the line, for it to happen."

He reaches for my hand.

"I'm afraid no matter what, all people are gonna hear is that I like, brainwashed you, or something. That I preyed on you when you were vulnerable and horny. Or, at least, I rubbed off on you and influenced you when you were lonely and confused, or whatever."

I look off, absorbing his disturbing words.

_Fuck_. Why must it always be the case ? That he's totally fucking right ... and it's just so fucking _wrong_.

"I'm _not_ confused, Max. Not anymore. I wasn't even confused then – deep down I _knew_, I just _hid_ from it, pretended and lied to myself, for months. So, y'know what ? _Fuck_ 'em. I don't _give_ a shit. We don't owe anybody an explanation."

"Your family ? Mine ?" He sits up. "I think we do." He speaks carefully. "Tone, you haven't existed yet as a gay or bi person, or whatever, in this world. Trust me. No matter how 'enlightened' people think they are, parents don't want their kids to be gay. They want 'normal' kids – I doubt that will ever change."

"Your family's already had to adjust to the changes in you from before – not that hardly any of them are bad, but the _last_ thing they're gonna wanna hear, especially now that you've stabilized to a large degree, is that you've switched gears, that you like _cock_, now, for fuck's sake. They're gonna _need_ to lay blame, to find a scapegoat. Not that I can't handle it, but I mean, they're not gonna believe it about _you_. They're not gonna accept it, I'm betting."

My stomach feels queasy. _Jesus christ_. Like I haven't had enough to deal with the last year. Finally something good happens, and it's to be met with suspicion and hassle ?

He looks down.

"I'm sorry. If I'd known, when you first started to feel this way, I mean, I maybe could've warned you. There's extra bollocks with the homo thing that straight people don't realize, that they're totally excused from. It sucks."

* * *

.

* * *

Shit. Great, Maxxie. _What in hell are you doing ?_ Scaring him off ? Spelling out the worst possible side of it. There are loads of positives, you know !

But he needs to know about the negatives, too.

* * *

.

* * *

Christ, I can't stand the look on his face – miserable and guilty – which he _isn't_.

_Fuck_ them ! Mum and dad _know_ Maxxie. He's become like their son, like Effy's second brother. So they _know_ the last thing he is is a conniving sleezeball.

I'll give them a fucking _week ..._ okay ... a month _tops_, and if they haven't come round by then ...

* * *

.

* * *

He threads his fingers with mine, and speaks softly. He seems oddly unfazed, which should make me feel better than it does. Or maybe I really am blowing it out of proportion.

"It'll be alright, Max. They know what kind of person you are. It'll be a shock at first, ya; I guess we have to give them that, but I won't let them accuse you of anything. They'll get used to it;" he grins, "they'll _have_ to. Besides," his eyes sparkle, "when they see how bloody happy I am ..."

Jesus _christ_ if my heart doesn't shoot a thousand feet into the air ... along with my voice.

_"Do you really mean it ?"_ I shriek, fully realizing what an arse I sound like.

"_Ya,"_ he nods, face as soft and sweet as you like.

"Cuz," I gush-sniffle, "that might just totally make my day."

His grin warms and widens.

"Good then," he leans close. "Let it."

* * *

I shut my eyes ... and there are those lips, warm and full; the lips that are mine. The kiss that ensues is unlike those before, utterly infused with not only love, but hope, and promise.

* * *

Quickly, inevitably, though, it does take that certain _turn_.

* * *

He breaks away for a second. Fuck, it almost _hurts_ to stop.

"Shouldn't we maybe go out ?"

The sparkle in his eye tells me he doesn't want to.

"Why ?"

"Cuz I mean, otherwise ... we might _actually_ not leave the room for two days."

I laugh, and lean toward him.

"And your problem with that is ?"

* * *

_Pucker_ ... mash ... swipe ... nip ... kiss ... nibble ... nibble ... suckle ... smooch ... _open_ ... kiss lick dip ... dip ... dartdartdart ... _suck_ ... _lick_ ... digdig ... press ... _smooooooch_ ... _wet_smooch ... _pantpant _... breathe ... _deep_smooch ... pantpant ... _deeper_ ... _moan_ ... lick/dart/_deeper_/smooch/moan ... repeat ... repeat ...

It's true then, the Chinese proverb : _Kissing is like drinking salted water; drink and your thirst will only increase._

* * *

And then, in an instant, the room spins. He's flipped me back so sudden, I let out a shocked, delighted _whoop-laugh_.

The face looking down at me by contrast is dead serious, and super steamy ... which shuts me up right quick. _Yes, Tony ? _I want to meekly ask.

Twice, his mouth lowers, the tip of that pink tongue _just_ peaking out (which let me tell you is _indescribably_ hot) ... and then retreats as he pulls back, seemingly unsure.

Our cocks, I can tell you, are _very_ damned sure.

"Um," he says, hesitant, "I feel like I wanna, I mean, sorta really badly ... just going on my gut, ... but ... I don't know what it is. I guess I don't feel ready, or whatever."

I search his eyes.

"For what, Tone ?"

His face flushes slightly as he deadpans.

"For fucking you."

_Gulp_.

_Shit ! !_

Okay ... funnily, I'm realizing I don't know myself if I'm ready yet, either, frankly. Even with all we've done, having sex – _penetrative, real deal_ sex, with _Tony,_ just seems so _un_real as to be slightly scary.

However when he _is _ready ... I have the feeling I will be, too.

* * *

"Um, it's ... it's okay. We don't have to."

"You told me you really like that, though."

"Fucking ?"

"Ya."

"Well ..." how to explain to the virgin without sounding like a smug, haughty arsehole that fucking _is_ sort of _the main feature of sex_, and always has been_. _"Ya, I do." That in fact most people equate fucking and nothing else _with_ sex. (Didn't a U.S. president once famously bank on it, in fact ?) "But, y'know, there's totally no rush."

He blinks.

"But haven't we sort of done everything else ?"

"Um, well," I stammer, wiggling my wrists, which are beginning to tingle under the weight of his hands, and pulling them free. "_No_."

"But ... okay, but ... what else _is_ there ?"

God, he's just blowing my mind here; his innocence once again seriously ramping up the _hot_ factor.

I raise a soft, open palm to his chest, caressing as I speak.

"Lots of stuff, Tone. Wherever your imagination takes you. Your fantasies."

I lean up and kiss him quickly.

"What's on your mind, right now ?" I whisper.

"Just ..." he shrugs, "... fucking."

God. For all the sexual finery I've explored, I must say, there's something genuinely refreshing about a meat-and-potatoes man.

"Your hips _do_ like to swing," I tease.

"Yup," he grins shyly. "Can't help it. Feels awesome."

"Mm. Tastes even better," I say, leaning up to kiss him again as I allow a hand to drop low.

* * *

.

* * *

Jesus fucking _christ_, how come _everything_ he does makes me _nuts_ ? Of _course_ my hips go into that instant rhythm – it's embarrassing, how helpless I am - no matter how slow or how fast or how tight the circle of his fingers. He's like a puppeteer, or a voo doo doctor, or something, doing the equivalent of knocking your knee on purpose in order to watch the reflex make you _kick_ ... and before my brain moves onto the metaphor of telling you to go 'ahh' and the tongue depressor down your throat ... he's moving. Down my body. Whispering to me with that demonic twinkle in his eye to _stay right where I am, _hovering above him as he shimmies his way south, tonguing all the way ... neck ... sternum ... nipple ... _navel_ ... and I don't really know what he's intending to do, even though it's maybe obvious, because it doesn't make sense, it's a bit weird, too awkward; he won't exactly _fit_ down there ... and then in an instant I realize it's the _point_. He _likes_ my hips to swing. He _wants_ them to swing. He's gonna _make_ them. Because in that way, it involves his two favorite things: oral, _and_ fucking.

* * *

And so what can you do when there's this warm, wide open cavity made suddenly available, the one that can breath hot air; that's generously, endlessly lubricated; that can close down around you like a vice grip, tease you with light, feathery kisses, slap against you and _milk_ you with that strong, muscley tongue; make you _so fucking miserable_ as it swivels and circles in rough, sharp twists or bears down and holds you in that wet, supertight seal ... causing you to nearly bite your way through your own lower lip, gasping out shameless gibberish and extraordinarily vile curse words ... and then from somewhere _down there _you hear it – _feel_ it, actually, reverberating through your privates - that fucking, _mother_fucking _hum_ – which for some reason intensifies the sensations that much more ... and you're _shaking_, because it's _calling_ to you like a homing signal, it's _making_ you do this, making you reach for the source of the vibration, which, as it turns out, is the furthest, deepest, and, you discover, softest pocket of flesh imaginable, that you never knew _existed ... _and you find out just how perfectly you fit here, like a long lost puzzle piece ... like you were born here ... and as if it isn't all deadly enough, as if the veins on both neck and cock aren't standing up like thick, ropey cords ... a fucking _hand_ has to go and grip the base, and you instantly know what it is: the final permission, the clearance you need to do what every instinct in your body is _screaming_ for: to quit holding back, to _let_ _loose_ and _FUCK him _and_ FUCK him _and_ FUCK him ..._

And it positively _rips_ from your body, the fluid, tears from it so quick and intense it's almost painful ... and, just as you'd pictured it, just as you're _screaming_ out something embarrassingly unintelligible which translates to _'OH HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT ! !'_ ... your head flies clean off your body ... plunk, into the ceiling ...

* * *

Before I collapse and smother him, he pushes up on my hips and flips me over, dead weight, onto my back, ... where I'm revealed for the stupid, dopily sated motherfucker that I am ... breathing in deep, crazy gasping pants ... in utter disbelief, once again, over what has just happened ...

* * *

.

* * *

"How was that ?" I beam, only half being cheeky. _I trust it satisfied your craving to fuck ? _I want to ask, but stop myself.

I kiss his chest and brush the hair back from his exquisite, weary eyes.

"You should ..." he rasps, "... your _mouth_ should ..." (pant-wheeze) "... be _arrested_."

I giggle, totally elated.

"Ahh, but then we couldn't have _sex_."

He chuckles wearily.

"Right now (gasp) that doesn't seem-"

"-Let's take a shower," I interject, completely catching him off guard. His dick's had a bloody _year_ _off_ ... and by my count, we've got three more rounds to go – yes, dammit, that was _far_ too much fun to stop now.

He looks at me a moment, gauging my face. My suggestion is deliberately ambiguous – _could_ be sexual; might not be.

Before he can decide either way, or fall asleep, which, I mean, he's heading there – the more we _do it_, the greater his exhaustion ... I move quickly to stand and yank on his hand.

"Come _on_."

"Max-"

"You _smell._"

"Max, I'm-"

"-Ya wanna get _out_ there, don't you ? Check out everything Brighton has to offer ? Arcade and movie theatre, and more beach and more rides, and shit ? We can't go out like _this_. Come on. We'll be all fresh and clean, after."

After _what_, I don't tell him.

* * *

In the shower, a big, roomy, tiled affair, I'm happy to report I feel unselfconsciously naked. Seems odd to say, maybe, as we've now been far more intimate with each other that simple nakedness, however I've found that outside the confines of the bedroom, nudity-awkwardness can still sometimes prevail, particularly in the early stages of a relationship.

Unfortunately, while I'm not feeling it, however, Tony clearly is.

I can't tell if it's because of his scars, or just general shyness about his body – he has called himself things like _stick_ and _mangled up stringbean_ on many an occasion, but I have the growing feeling it's the former, as he keeps seeming to want to hide himself by over-soaping his chest and turning away, which doesn't accomplish anything as his back is just as scarred.

All of which I find heartbreaking, and also rather adorable.

* * *

"Let me wash your hair," I whisper, reaching for the shampoo.

"Hm ?" he says, glancing back over his shoulder.

"It's a mess," I answer, guiding him towards the warm spray.

He turns reluctantly, shuts his eyes, tilts his head slightly back, and I'm treated to a sight that is so breathtaking it appears to my eyes to be in slow motion: water cascading from above, plastering all that luscious hair, running freely over that magnificent, chiseled face ... neck ... down all that pure, porcelain skin ... and I'm once again just absolutely _dazzled_.

That he would be seemingly unaware of the depth and magnitude of his own beauty, especially in comparison with Old Tony, who knew and used it for all it was worth, is just a crazily wonderful bonus.

* * *

I've been with more than a few beauties; it does tend to be my preference, but I've found there's often a price. Ego, for one; vanity, being a bit too in love with themselves. And okay, it's not like Tony doesn't know he's handsome – facially. Girls certainly look at him often enough. But he thinks it ends there. The overly confident, arrogant boy with the unwavering belief in his own appeal, physical and otherwise, has all but disappeared.

* * *

I turn him away, reach for the shampoo, and work it into a lather as I massage and knead his scalp. I whisper to him; it can't be helped.

_"Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are ?"_

"Right," he smirks.

"You _are_."

He pauses a moment to take a breath.

"Yup. Love: definitely blind."

"Fuck off. I'm serious."

"_Look_ at me, Max," he says with slight impatience, pointing to his torso. "I'm an unqualified nightmare. _Nothing_ like the guys you usually go with."

"Stop it, Tony," I say, tilting his head back into the spray and threading my fingers through bits of hair to aid in the rinsing. "You're beginning to annoy me. Believe me, the guys I usually 'go with' can't hold a candle to you for either brains _or_ beauty-"

"_-Bill-", _he has the nerve to interject, before I snap.

"-You're _NOT_ gonna mention his name in the middle of this, are you ? !"

"But-"

"-Bill is _nothing_ to me, Tony. I don't love him; I _told_ you." I grin. "_Far_ too caught up in _you_. Even _he_ said so."

That shuts him up.

"And as far as this 'unqualified nightmare' business, if you're talking about your scars, they're really not so horrid, you know."

He snorts.

When the shampoo is fully rinsed I lean in for a quick peck. "Since when do you not believe me when I tell you things ?" I look down and reach out a soft finger to trace a line along the jagged outter edge. "This one here," I say, indicating the more severe, pinkish number running horizontal beneath his left pectoral, "is my favorite."

He laughs softly.

"Tosser. It's the worst one."

I flick my eyes up coyly at him.

"Don't believe me ?"

"No."

I lean towards it, I _have_ to, examining it up close before surprising him with a flick of my tongue and a soft smooch.

The best thing about it is that it instantly makes him giggle and shimmy in place.

Tony is _ticklish ?_

So then I just _have_ to keep going.

* * *

.

* * *

It's unbelievable. I mean, I'm revolted by them, the scars. How could I not be ? They're positively ghastly. I've never gotten used to them - in the mirror, to this day, they still make me wince. And here is Maxxie ... _kissing_ _them_ ! Like they're the most beautiful things in the world.

He's cracked. Or madly in love. I can't decide.

Most embarrassing thing is, the skin's really sensitive, even after all this time, and his lips are so soft, let alone that genius tongue, it's making me _giggle_.

"Max," I squirm. "_Stop_ it. Come _on_."

"Sorry, no," he says, dragging the pointed tip through it.

_Jesus_. It's making me _hot_, even. Last thing I bloody need. I try to physically push him away, but instead find myself grabbing his face with both hands and bringing it to mine for a serious, extensive mauling.

What, am I _addicted_ ?

* * *

He pulls back suddenly. His eyes have that increasingly familiar filthy twinkle.

"Turn around," he says, all serious and sexy.

I go to open my mouth to protest – but what about _Brighton_ ? - when his lands on mine, and before long, my mind floats the thought ..._ 'fuck Brighton'. _

* * *

He pulls off, and then he's taking my shoulders and gently turning me to face the wall. _Jesus_. It's exciting, not knowing what he's up to, why he wants me to do this ... and then the fear creeps in again.

"Max", I say, stopping mid way. "I'm not ready for-"

"I know," he immediately says, cupping my jaw. "I wouldn't dream of it before you're ready, Tone. Promise." He leans in, kisses me soft, and whispers. "I just don't wanna miss out on the scar, back here."

_Miss out._ Like it's some golden prize.

* * *

He can't mean it, these things. I mean, he's just doing it to make a point. To make me feel better about myself.

_Right ? _

* * *

He takes his time, kissing the one back there, caressing it, telling me how it's almost like _artwork_, that he in fact, _wants to sketch it,_ and refuses to listen to my scoffings or protests ... and then he grabs the soap and runs it over my entire back, kneading and massaging along the way, and it's fairly glorious. How he hasn't employed himself as a professional masseuse thus far, I don't know.

Then his hands lower, and he's soaping up my scrawny buns. Christ, if my scars aren't mortifying enough, my pathetically skinny, shapeless arse ... the polar opposite of a bubble butt – of _all_ the guys in his sketch pad ...

_Not _all_ the guys - you're _in_ his sketch pad_, remember.

Oh ... shit. Ya.

* * *

Next, my thighs, particularly, it should be noted, my extreme upper, inner ones. Let's say he isn't exactly careful not to brush against my balls ... then down each leg, rigourously massaging the whole way ... and I'm like a new man. Ready to take on the world.

That is, if it weren't for this raging hard-on poking from my body.

* * *

Next, he puts his face up by my ear, and whispers.

"_I love you so much."_

_God_, what a rush. No matter how many times you hear it, it never loses it's impact.

* * *

In response, I turn my face sideways and we kiss over my shoulder. It's a bit awkward, but pretty frigging intense.

He breaks away.

"Do you trust me, Tone ?"

"Huh ? Ya, of course – ya."

"I wanna try something. Will you let me ?"

Shit. What a tantalizing couple of sentences.

"Um ... okay," I answer, sounding way more sure than I am.

He removes the shower head and runs it over my entire back. A quick glance downward finds the soapy bubbles moving in a small whirlpool down the drain. I have a brief premonition that I'm very soon going to feel as though my brain is doing the same thing.

* * *

There is then a soapy hand on my cheeks again.

"You have such a sweet, gorgeous little bottom, did you know that ? _So_ hot."

Once again, he can't mean it. I don't even _have_ a 'bottom' – my lower back pretty much disappears into my legs, but before I can scoff at this statement, before I can process the sensation ... he's running a finger up my crack.

I leap away in surprise – it's just instinct, I suppose, not to let anyone touch you here.

He yanks me back in place, a hand on each hip.

"_Max-"_

"-_Let_ me Tone, _please_ ? You said you trust me. I'm _not_ gonna penetrate, I _promise_."

"But-" I squirm.

"Shhh," he says, kissing my shoulder blade. "Relax. Put your hands on the wall."

_Relax ? ! _

_Put your hands on the wall ? !_

Those two phrases _do NOT _go together.

* * *

Why must my dick betray me, though ? Why is it twitching and swelling up fat at the very idea ? And so I do it ... and then by christ there's a soaped up finger gently circling the hole ... nudging at it with a knuckle, all very soft and careful ... and I'm not sure how it feels, not sure if I like it, but then I'm tense and really really nervous – it can't be helped – and then it's over. He pulls down the showerhead and runs the warm spray over the crack. Just as I'm beginning to relax, I mean, that was weird, but it wasn't horrid, I suppose ... here come more whispered instructions.

"_Spread your legs."_

Shit. Holy fucking _shit_. My dick practically leaps into the air over this one.

I glance briefly over my shoulder, a small part of me wanting to protest, wanting to question this, but the body bypasses the brain, and complies.

_"Wider,"_ he says.

Oh fuck. Just finish me off, right here, I think, as I spread further.

It's then that I see it, a neatly folded towel thrown to the shower floor just behind me ...

That I hear it: "just hold still, okay ?" ...

And that I _feel_ it ...

A soft tongue running ever so gently, over the hole.

* * *

I lift one foot, then the other; my head going from hanging straight down off my shoulders to flying straight back, every single articulation from my mouth bouncing and echoing off the tiles ... and he _will not stop._

It's unlike anything I've ever felt or imagined, the sensation. Wet and swirly and strong, weirdly intense, like there's a direct line between it, and my dick. Somewhere far off in my mind I recall him discussing some inner spot, some small bit of flesh _inside_ which contains a concentrated bundle of nerves - the Panic Button, I think he called it, and how, when rubbed, it sends you hurtling off into the stratosphere ... and I try to imagine it for a moment, imagine it feeling better than this, but can't, so bloody talented is his tongue, so naturally gifted and eager, with a mind of it's own, circling, poking, lapping, flicking into the hole, and it's just ... _insanely hot _... Holy _shit_ it makes you dance, makes you jut your arse out shameless.

* * *

No, I'm sorry, Max. I _can't_ keep still. Not possible. Not with your face in my cheeks, tormenting the rim – it _is_ called 'rimming', isn't it ? - I mean, who knew that this universally reviled part of the anatomy held the capacity for such intense pleasure ? I don't understand it – I would have argued against it all day long, and in fact I recall doing so, once he informed me that this was something people actually did.

"No fucking way!" I shrieked. "You _can't_ be serious !"

"It's true." He shrugged. "Been around for ages. Straights do it, too."

"Disgusting ! Revolting, Max ! _How could you do it ? !"_

_Here's_ how: His tongue should win the Nobel frigging prize. It circles you, and you giggle and twist about, and then he grabs you impatiently with both hands, and holds you still for a bit, and he makes these little torturous up and down, circular, diagonal and then _criss-crossing_ motions, _just_ with the tip, and ... oh god, oh holy blithering christ ... back and forth the pendulum swings, _back and forth_, which he immediately learns is my new favorite thing in the world – and so he preys on this knowledge, cruel bastard, making the sideways sweeping motion over and over for a solid minute, or is it _twelve ? ? _ Varying only in pressure and intensity, and it's just ... unbearable. For each pass I emit this bizarre, strangled, futuristic, satanic curse word, or _some_thing – lord knows what it is, or maybe I'm speaking in tongues, or at least another language, producing sounds I've never heard out of myself _to date,_ which let me tell you, is saying a lot, and I'm pushing out air from my lungs, mouth completely dry, now, hands positioning and repositioning on the wall, desperate for a firm grip point with which to assist me in _withstanding_ this assault, but finding none.

And I have to. I _have_ to lower a hand, because it's _so_ fat and mean, my cock, throbbing so hard it's thumping in my ears like a bass drum. The sensation, on top of everything else, is making me manic, and so I _must_ relieve the pressure ... but he's instantly on me.

"Don't you fucking _dare._" He barks. "Hands _on the wall_."

I whimper. I actually do.

_No. __Stop_ yourself. Have you no self respect ?

In agony, I throw the hand back up where it was, biting through my lip, and then I'm instantly back to the head hanging/head snapping thing as he spreads me with further still, and gets his lips in there, now ... and _holy motherfucker_ I am simply going to _expire_, right here. It's just _so wicked_, this torturous, endless lap/smooch, ramping everything up by about a billion percent.

There's _no hope_, you understand, particularly when he slows down, and then it's _so_ _much worse_, so much more intense, each and every tiny circling, flicking, swiping sensation ...

He's a god. That's it.

No, not _a_ god.

_God_.

* * *

But how I can think this about a being who is kneeling in the shower at nine in the morning in some tacky tourist town, positively _driving_ his tongue into places it was never meant to go ...

Okay, christ ... _phew_, he's stopped. A moment's respite, praise jesus, or maybe the torment is actually over ...

But, no. Here it comes – a soapy hand reaching round front, and he's infinitesimally gentle, when he touches it, knowing the fragile, sorry condition it's in ... but I cry out just the same, digging my nails into the grout, and then let out a great hoarse, squeeling _whimper,_ as that tongue is back – oh no, he's not _seriously_ going to do both at once - _teasing and making the lightest, faintest sideways sweeping motions, missing every third or so just to keep me guessing as he strokes my cock at the same murderous snail's pace_ ... IS he ?

Yes, fuck's sake, _yes_. And I'm telling you, it's sheer torture. I _can_not come with him moving this slow, with this barely-there caress, even _with_ that tongue up my arse ... meaning I'm being very deliberately kept on the razor thin 'just before' edge ...

My brain blanks out a few times, the intensity of perpetual near-orgasm almost literally too much, and I'm daydreaming here in this shower of a mouth on my balls – if the lad only had two mouthes, I figure, _that_ is where I would need it _right now_, in order to send me hurtling madly over the cliff ...

Shudder.

_Maxxie ?_ With _two_ mouthes ?

* * *

.

* * *

He's squirming and crying, absently stomping his feet, even – not a reaction I've ever previously had, and I'm absolutely flying, _so_ turned on, _so_ elated and honored to make him _this_ insane, to turn his brain inside out and right to mush, that I don't want it to end. He doesn't understand that I really could do this all day. I'm principally about the mouth – it _is_ where my talents lie, and, good as cock and balls may be, _arse_ is so wickedly forbidden, so very taboo, particularly to a (formally, I will now dare say) straightboy that it's become a particular specialty and favorite, though one I normally reserve for special occasions only ...

This being the specialist of all ... _Tony's First Time._

* * *

But alas, it can't go on forever, sadly, and my knees _are_ screaming at me, neck and mouth aching, and so I retreat, catching my breath, and allowing him a moment to catch his – the proverbial calm before the storm – before moving in for the kill.

Yes, not that it will take much at this point, but a lightning quick finish – coming like a gunshot, is what I'm going for - might be especially luscious.

* * *

He will pitch right off to sleep afterwards – I've tortured him enough - but that's okay. I'll rinse fiercely with the anti-bacterial stuff so that I can kiss him (my medical student cousin convincing me that the _last_ thing you wanna risk is Hepatitis), and then allow him a peaceful slumber while I once again take care of my own urgent needs, here in the loo.

* * *

And so ... away we go ... tongue and hand in unison, slow at first, then right into speed-of-sound ... and below me, those feet twist and curl helplessly, and as I raise my free hand to tug gently, once ... twice, on his balls ...

_! ! *SCREAM* ! !_

Bloody murder ... to _all_ bloody hell ... the sound ricochets and reverberates off the tiles, echoing from one end of the room to the other like home theatre, hips jerking and shaking every few seconds, whole body trembling as he shoots off, manic, into the wall.

I keep at him through it, both ends - can't help myself, until he's spent and useless.

Finally I raise up off my knees, _christ_ they hurt, and dive for the mouthwash which I rinse, twice, and twice again, violently, before spitting and returning to him.

He's still in place, hands on the wall, head hanging low, and I slide in between. To my surprise and concern at first, he's emotional, like he's just been through something difficult, maybe uncomfortable, that he's still trying to process, still trying to decide on ... or maybe it's that he's embarrassed or even possibly upset to have had me do that to him – kiss him in his most private area, and turn it into something sexual. Maybe I went too far. Maybe he wasn't ready.

But no. I look again. His eyes meet mine, and yes, they're a tad freaked, but, I realize, it's only from having come so particularly hard, from it being so new and raw, this whole experience ... for he leans and takes me, bodily, into the gentlest hug, into the achingly sweet circle of his arms ... and just holds me there, forever, with his mouth against my ear, panting out the final warm breaths, and says nothing. He doesn't need to. He's loved. If he didn't realize it before, it he had any doubts about it at all, they have vanished.

* * *

_._

* * *

**Author's note**: here are the credits for the various love-quotes floating through Maxxie's head early on:

_"Here are fruits, flowers, leaves, and branches, and here is my heart which beats only for you."_ (Paul Verlaine)

_"What I feel for you seems less of earth and more of a cloudless heaven."_ (Victor Hugo)

"_What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."_ (Ralph Waldo Emerson) _(The reader will notice that I took the liberty of tweaking this slightly, as I felt it worked better for the story, substituting the word "between" for "within".) _

Lord Byron, below _(as noted in the story, Maxxie switched the pronouns from "she" and "her" in Byron's original poem, to "he" and "his", for obvious reasons): _

_"She walks in beauty,  
Like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes."_

The Liz Phair lyrics are from her song _Flower_ from her 1993 debut album, _Exile in Guyville. _Funnily and fittingly, I just found out that this song, containing the memorable lyric "I wanna be your blowjob queen", was covered by the gay male group Pansy Division.

* * *

.


	19. Inside of a Tiny Breath

What.

The.

Fuck.

Just_ happened ? _

_Am I in some alternate reality ?_

And who the _fuck_ _IS_ this in my arms, some crazed, degenerate _sorcerer_ ? Casting filthy spells with that evil, alternate tongue ? With the devil's own lips ?

* * *

It's all of you contained within a giant steaming cauldron of debauchery– nipples and cock and scars bobbing at the surface, _devoured,_ before being immersed, twitching and gasping, made to hold your breath, but drowned anyway.

And here you are, here you surface, strung out, shivering and stunned, a weary ache settled deep within your lungs, your _muscles_ – ones you didn't know you bloody _had -_ as if you've been dragged, screaming and fighting, backwards through the proverbial hedge.

* * *

Sex is supposed to be lovely, no ? A release, they call it. For men, I had thought, it's especially simple – the switch turns on, you come, the switch turns off. You're not supposed to feel, are you, like you've walked into _the wicked man's house_ – the mysterious one you've secretly long been afraid of – making sure to cross to the other side of the street each time you pass - and in an instant, he's got you; helpless, twisted and tangled inside his sorcerer's web.

The irony being, you can free yourself at any moment. You know this – it's _easy_, even – except ... _you don't bloody want to._ You've _seen_ the other side, tasted it, now, it's tentacles have crept inside your brain ... and you experience the rather unnerving realization that you've never wanted anything so bad in your life.

But it's not just the sex. _You've_ _never felt so close to anyone - _just an amazing sense of connectedness. Somebody's stripped you to the primal state, _seen_ what you are, the ugly, nasty depths of you ... _and they don't care. _ They love you just the same.

* * *

There it is in my mind, clear as day: the very first moment. Age 9, the both of us. The new boy in class; small for his age, blonde, innocent, answering a maths question - correctly, the teacher smiling at him, and I turn my head to look. No lightning bolt. No mystical flowery vision.

How is it that I couldn't have known, couldn't have looked into that face and _seen_ ?

* * *

My brain is slowly reconfiguring ... forming a phrase ... pushing it towards my lips ...

"What do I do _now_ ?"

It starts with a little wrinkle at the bridge of his nose, which forms into a crease, and then his whole face splits wide open into a bright, glowing grin as the laugh busts out of him – the most gorgeous thing you've ever heard - delight, surprise, a touch of raunch, and you wanna marry him right there.

He raises a hand to my cheek and holds it there a moment. The look in his eyes is just incredible. Warmth and honesty and fucking ... _adoration_. Like I'm some huge, enormous deal. Like he's completely bloody _smitten_.

"_Bask in the afterglow," _he answers.

* * *

I remove it, bring it to my lips, and kiss his open palm, like he's the pope.

"How come you're so fucking incredible ?" I ask. _"How come ?"_

He flushes. He grins shyly.

"I'm not."

I take his other hand, to hold it.

"Listen to me, Maxxie. _You are the most amazing creature that ever walked this earth. _ Do you know that ? You make me _insane_. I don't know who I am, anymore."

He flushes further, and squirms a bit. I've embarrassed him. I can't help myself. The emotions are pooling up inside.

"_I love you," _I gush, "_I love you more than anyone in the entire fucking world. _ More than _any_thing."

He pulls me close, arms sliding round my back. He turns his face and whispers into my ear.

"Stop it. You're gonna turn me into a pile of goo." He kisses my neck. "_I feel exactly the same way._"

A breath bursts out of me, a gush, really. Stupid maybe, idiotic, but, I can't fucking help it – I'm completely overcome, a big, jibbering mess, to have even a fraction of my feelings mirrored back.

He holds me and pets my hair a long while ... and it's positively glorious. If I could stop time right now, if I could freeze it ...

* * *

It's a bit funny, then, maybe a tad awkward, that in the middle of the all this flowery mush, standing upright like an exclamation point between us ... is his very present erection.

* * *

"_Maxxie,"_ I whisper, surprised at the tone in my voice – equal parts tenderness, and desire.

Fuck me, I think, as I reach. It's true, then; for the very first time in my life, I positively ache for cock.

* * *

He squirms a bit, as I knew he would.

"It's alright," he says. "I'm fine." He tries unsuccessfully to block my hand.

"_Let_ me," I protest. "I don't stop _you_."

"I'm just ... "

"What ?"

"Not used to it."

"Well _get_ used to it," I say, as I remove his hand, which drops slowly, resignedly back to his side.

* * *

.

* * *

His eyes travel to my lips, and he leans down. I slip a hand behind his neck, fingers threading into the damp hair as my lids shut in anticipation, and then ... nothing.

I look. At close range, the blue pools loom, seeming to take up half his face.

"Am I not supposed to ?" he asks.

I pull back slightly, so he's more in focus.

"Not supposed to what, Tone ?"

"After what you just did, I mean. Kiss you."

Christ, once again, the _innocence_. If he only knew the impact it had.

"Oh. No - it's perfectly fine. I rinsed really good." I grin at him. "I'm safe to be kissed," I say, puckering up, and tilting my head towards him.

"So you brought that rinse stuff with you ?"

Wow. Okay. This feels a tiny bit awkward.

"Ya. Y'know, just in case."

His eyes dart between mine.

"So like, you would've maybe done that this weekend, with a guy you met here ?"

Damn, why do I suddenly feel like such a slut ? And why does his gaze have to be so bloody _piercing_ ?

I squirm a bit.

"Possibly. I like to be prepared."

Those blue beams open and shut. He says nothing.

"Does that bother you ?"

His pupils widen.

"No," he says too quickly.

Christ.

I slide my hand down the curve of his neck and lay it on his shoulder.

"You're a shit liar, Tone," I say, half smiling.

He blinks, he looks down.

"Sorry."

"Come on," I say softly, "you knew I was gonna try for a hookup this weekend; we _both_ were. So why does it bother you ?"

He looks up, the picture of stammering sincerity.

"Just … I can't help it, Max. It just – it just makes me feel funny, the thought of you, y'know, with somebody else." He pauses a moment. "I just … I really … I really wanna be your boyfriend."

God

all

friggin

_mighty_.

_Just knock me completely fucking flat, why don't you ? !_

Do you think, even in my wildest, nuttiest possible imaginings, my silliest, oh-what-the-hell fantasies, that I would have, _could_ have imagined hearing such words from Tony ? _TONY ?_ !

I slide my hand to his face.

"Oh Tone, you _have_ to know that's all I want too."

He searches my eyes.

"But what if you meet some really hot guy ?" he asks, "You could meet him tomorrow. There's millions of 'em out there."

I drop my hand and shake my head slowly, both in answer to his question, and from frustration.

"We'll have to make a rule, if we're gonna be together."

He squints.

"Huh ? What rule ?"

"That you believe what comes out of my mouth, and that you maybe give me a little credit, please." I take his hand. "Listen to me, yes, I've been popular with the boys, but if this weekend has taught me anything, it's that all that time, I was looking for _you_."

He smirks.

"Chrissake, Tone, did you not just hear me ? Don't give me that look. Messing around is fun, but it's _temporary, _that's the thing_._ Like ... the candy floss we had yesterday – tasty, then in a flash, it's gone. You can't live on it, can you ? Nor would you want to." I smile. "By contrast, _you're _like a full course, well balanced meal; salad, and veg, and then a nice juicy steak."

He grins.

"A little tough sometimes, yes," I continue, "a bit hard to digest ..."

"Hey !" he shouts, laughing.

"... _But I love you to pieces,_ Tone. You're brilliant, and beautiful and so funny and ... endlessly entertaining and fascinating, not to mention superfuckinghot _and_ you're my best bloody friend- I'd like to see somebody try and compete with all _that ..._ _and I'm not interested in anyone else, regardless, period."_

I lean up to kiss him on the forehead.

Okay ?"

He grins and nods his head once, quickly.

"Okay."

"So you believe me ?"

"Yes."

"Alright, but just so you know what it feels like, I'll ask you the same question: _What if you meet some really hot girl ?"_

* * *

.

* * *

It's weird. I don't understand it ... but I can't seem to escape this very intense feeling – not even feeling, _knowledge_, way, way deep in my gut, that I'm _all through with that side of my life_. Staggering to say it, maybe ... but girls feel to me like something Old Tony did.

I was lost, after the accident, obviously, trying to rebuild my life. I was grasping at what I thought I wanted – what people told me I _was_, but this new guy is _me_, goddamit, and _mine_ to claim and shape in any frigging way that feels right, thank you.

Okay, to be perfectly honest, it doesn't mean I will never again have an interest in girls – maybe I will at some point – but who cares ? I don't give a shit. It will _not_ invalidate Maxxie, to me – how could it ? It _can't_. _Nothing_ feels righter to me, absolutely in this entire world, than him - than _us_. It's just the way it's turned out. I can fight it, I can go with my fears and let that rule me – fear of being a 'poof', and all that lame, weak crap - but what kind of first class arsehole and irretrievable ignoramus would I be to reject the most brilliant, beautiful, once in a millenium fucking miracle meteor, fallen clear out of the sky into my lousy, undeserving lap ? What would be the point of pretending you haven't won the motherfucking lottery when you _have_ ... only better, cuz the lottery doesn't save your life, does it ? Doesn't revive you and befriend you and become your best mate and also give you spectacular, absolutely mind shattering, mind _obliterating_ sex ... does it ?

_The lottery doesn't have cock._

"Tits," he offers. "What about tits ?"

I chuckle – if he only knew what I'd just been thinking.

"You know what," I admit, looking him directly in the eye. "I'm not all that bothered."

"But you could meet a girl tomorrow, Tony. You might be _very_ bothered by some stunning, big-titted bimbette."

* * *

.

* * *

He responds to my question, or is it accusation, by wearing a small, indecipherable smile, looking down and taking in hand my by-now thoroughly wilted cock. Yes, there is nothing quite like a conversation such as this to wither a previously healthy hard-on.

Sigh. How did we get into this again ?

* * *

.

* * *

It feels small and warm, innocent, enveloped in my wrinkly palm, like a baby bird, just fallen from it's nest of short, dark blonde curls.

You'd never know, would you, by it's present restful state, the threat it can pose, the trouble it can unleash, that a once entirely straight boy could be caused to _turn_, to fall under it's oddly bewitching spell, perhaps never to go back (nor does he care).

I'm supposed to be repulsed by this, I know. I'm supposed to run screaming at the very thought. So why am I instead, so fucking _entranced_ ? Why am I actually thinking, right this second and with a surge of glee: _This is mine. Nobody else's. _Why do I raise my eyes to his, give it a firm squeeze, and tell him:

"Girls don't have _this."_

* * *

.

* * *

Okay, _fuck_, I mean ... that one sets me back pretty damn far on my heels – about as final, and staggering a statement, announcement, really, as can be, the significance of which is not lost on a certain rapidly fattening bodily organ.

"So," I tease, "the truth comes out. You only want me for my cock, hmm ?"

He smiles.

"Well, see, it's a funny thing I've just recently discovered. Contrary to my prior beliefs, cock is pretty fucking amazing."

I burst out laughing.

"And," he continues with a wicked, unbearably sexy grin, "it's sorta fun to play with; yours especially." He brings his face close, never interrupting the soft, insistent ministrations below. "In fact I might have a coupla ideas about how to keep it, um, entertained."

_Holy fucking shit._ Said cock practically leaps into the air over that one.

"Tony," I say, reaching a hand behind his neck to pull him closer, "if you keep talking that way, it'll all be over very soon."

His lips brush mine ... "Well then, I'd better fucking shut up ...", clamp right down ... and we fall headlong into the kiss, which quickly is almost like a fight. I grab his face with both hands and yank at his hair and we bite and suck at the swell of lips, open wide ... and then it's a messy free for all: pulling each other further into the tangle of rough, swiping, possessive tongues and gnashing, clicking teeth ...

* * *

.

* * *

... And it strikes me, all through it, that it's like a small battle, what we're doing, a tiny war in which neither side can lose, and yet we're each still so desperate to 'win' – to _own_ the other – it's just that one of us has a very significant advantage in hand, so to speak, in the form of a needy and very hungry cock, and it's positively fascinating, the contradiction, the mystery of steely firmness encased in supple, petal-soft flesh, and the abuse it can take, the rapid, corkscrew fist you learn to apply – that he teaches you via desperate pleas and murmurs – up, cupping rapidly over the swelling head, and down again – which you discover goes that much faster if you lather up ... and it's incredible, the sounds you can wring from his throat as you batter and hammer at him, and a part of you is a little afraid of such rough treatment, and yet he's so clearly loving it, he'd kill you if you stopped, and in fact you notice he's leaned back, now, so that it's just a single shoulder blade against the tile, in order so that his hips can swing absolutely free, hurtling and snapping, hard and shameless into your hand, to the point where you can't keep up and so you stop trying, you simply hold your fist still and then position the other just above it, giving him the sensation of a deep, slippery hole, and you imagine as he pumps away that he imagines it's _you_, that he's pushed his way in maybe before you were ready, and you cry out cuz it hurts, but it's so good, neither of you care – and it's so dirty, these thoughts, so fucking delicious and taboo, and the look on his face and the way his tongue keeps doing that rapid circle of his lips is making you _insane_, and these words shoot to mind, these phrases, and you never, ever thought you'd be one to do this and you can't possibly let them out and you can't possibly keep them in ...

"_You filthy fucking slut,"_ you blurt.

"Gah !" he shouts, chin snapping upward to aid in the exhalation. _"Fuck !"_

Which you translate to mean: _"Yes ! More !"_

"_Cocksucking little whore."_

"_Mgghmhh ! _

And you're so surprised and turned on by the whole scene - by how sexual he is, by the power of harsh language, that your brain is instantly on the hunt for more. You want to truly shock him; completely ruin him for life ...

"_Come in my face__."_

His voice climbs several octaves.

_"What ? !_ _No !"_

And you hurl yourself to your knees ...

"_Come in my face ! Do it ! Shoot it all over me ! I want you to !"_

"_Tony !"_

And that's it – you grab a hold and you're aiming and jerking and you don't stop as the spurts come flying, you're milking it the whole way – no time or room to get out of their way, even if you'd wanted to, and it's ... _one, two, three, four, five, six, seven_ rapid fire arcs of warm, creamy white, landing everywhere ... eyelid, chin, forehead, nose, shoulder, nipple and neck and some in your hair, even ... and you're a bit in shock; more than a bit – you're _shaking_ and really nervous and freaked ... but you know you must look amazing to him right now, and it makes you weirdly proud that you _did it,_ you fucking well did it - completely lost your mind and just went with it and didn't hardly flinch.

* * *

And he's leaning back, against the tile, pink and panting like a racehorse and staring in crazed disbelief ... and I don't know quite what to do. Why does nobody tell you what to do once the bloody stuff is all over you ? Because you just want it off you, truth be told – it's sticky and drippy and ...

Fuck, I absolutely _can't fucking believe I did it._

* * *

.

* * *

I lean for a clean wet towel, shaking like a mad man, run it over him, and pull him up off his bloody knees.

I direct the spray and he shuts his eyes and whatever remaining microscopic remnants of _me_ there are go sliding down his body into the drain.

I'm stunned, still getting my breath back, and can barely form thoughts, let alone coherent phrases.

"_Tony," _is all I can mumble. My head is so screwed up I'm convinced his face,_ the one I just spewed all over_, is a slightly different shape from before.

He's grinning back at me, ear to ear, so beautifully, with more than a hint of prideful mischief – he knows he's knocked me senseless.

* * *

I pull him to me, this magnificent creature, and run a hand up into his hair and he buries his face deep in my neck and I hear a word, or think I do, and it's so profoundly lovely it doesn't register at first and I can't even be sure he said it. I'm messed up enough as it is – I mean, not only did he tell me outright and completely convince me that he_ really does want to be my boyfriend_, not only did he throw at me some stupendously juicy dirty talk (and I can't right now remember if I ever even told him I like that – would I have told him that ? Or what words to use and not use, but I'm thinking I didn't), but then there was_ everything fucking after that _... I mean, I can't get my head around it. Can't take it in.

So then my brain skips back to the utterance I (think) I just heard, the simple, two syllable word that I probably imagined, but it's not so much the word, although it was/would have been pretty fucking amazing and certainly significant, but _how_ it was seemingly spoken - in a voice just absolutely suffused with tenderness and affection and it's therefore all a bit too wonderful, _too_ sweet, maybe, even for the new Tony, so ya, probably did imagine it ... but it turns out I'm wrong about that ... because he says it - again, the lovely bastard. He plants a quick kiss on my earlobe and inside of a tiny breath I hear it, said simply, no big flourish, like he can't help himself:

"_Baby."_

And that's it.

Tony just fucking called me _baby ... _okay ? As in, _his_ baby.

Not even anything terribly uncommon, admittedly, as pet names go, but you see, that doesn't matter. It's a bloody _pet name _and _how_ can he know, unless I told him but I'm damn well sure I wouldn't have, because it's so corny and old fashioned and embarrassing, that I've positively _craved_ such a thing for fucking _ages. _A pet name of my own, to be known and called by, maybe only in private, but maybe not, _by _the man who loves me, the one I'm exclusively involved with, for whom my full name or even "Max" is just too formal and lacking in intimacy ...

And so I'm just standing here, positively melting on the spot, trying like mad to resist the temptation to leap up into Tony's arms and _squeal__._


	20. The First

**"You realize ...**" I finally say when I can speak, though I run out of steam right there.

"What ?" he asks, pulling back to look at me.

I take a deep breath. How can I possibly put it into words ?

"Take me a year to get over this."

He searches my eyes a moment before breaking into an enormous cheeky grin and leaning for a quick kiss.

"So," he says, clearly well pleased with himself. "How did I look ?"

I raise a hand to his temple, threading my fingers through the dark, damp strands of hair. For a moment I'm not even sure what he means - the utterance completely dominating my brain, not the thing that came before it – and anyway, how can one possibly answer such a question ? How do you _think_ you looked, Tony, after putting yourself directly into the line of ejaculatory fire ?

My eyes drop, a finger following their line across his temple, down a cheekbone and across his lips, reliving the image that will forever be burned into my brain.

He _made_ it happen, _wanted_ it to; that's what keeps hitting me. Wanted not only to cause but to _partake_, first person and in the most graphic way, in my orgasm ... and I can't escape the conclusion that we've crossed a very significant line.

* * *

I recall – how could I forget ? - my own first time on the 'facial' receiving end, and the dividing line that ultimately proved to be in my life. More than oral, more than anal, being showered in a man's semen was so shockingly, intensely intimate, so deeply, unequivocally (homo)sexual, it was nothing short, for me, of an erotic baptism, and served as the final healing point for what I had, to then, been struggling with: gay self acknowledgment, and acceptance.

"Come on," he says, prodding me out of my reverie, "seriously; I wanna know - how did I _look_ ?"

I search his face. I can't expect it to mean the same thing to Tony. He didn't grow up dreaming of cock, and living in a world that demeaned him for it.

"Like a breathtakingly beautiful boy ..." I tell him, pausing as I struggle to find words.

"Covered in jizz," he interjects, laughing.

"Yes, that," I smile, "but … you looked positively ... angelic, Tone," I say, struck by the truth in the statement. "Like an angel," I say with a nod, fully realizing what an arse I sound like ... but, it makes total sense. Tony has several times said that I 'saved' him, but right now it feels like the other way around.

* * *

His eyes dart momentarily back and forth between mine, trying to gauge if I'm taking the mick.

"_Huh ?" _

I cup his cheek.

"It's true."

He blinks.

"Not exactly the look I was going for."

"You're the most amazing creature I've ever known, Tony."

"_Jesus_," he says, grinning shyly.

"I thought I knew everything there was to know about you," I blather, "and here you go showing me this whole other side you've kept hidden – this unselfish, unselfconscious, ridiculously sexy being hiding out inside my best friend all this time."

"Shit," he laughs. "I was just trying to get you off."

I look directly into his eyes. How to wipe that smile off his face ? How to make him understand, to convey the growing realization within me, without sounding even more like an arse ?

"You're completely unlike anyone I've ever been with. Anyone I've ever _known_."

"Come on. You've had some pretty hot guys-"

"-I'm not just talking sex, here. You're like … the _first_."

I stumble here, a tiny bit startled at what it is I'm saying.

His face is blank.

"First what ?"

I take a breath. It will sound melodramatic, yes.

"First person I've ever been in love with."

He squints.

"But ... you told me ..."

And I'm off.

"This is brand new. I _know_ it. I thought I'd felt it before, but, I guess when the real thing hits," I smile, "it sort of smothers you and bathes you in it and it's alive and swimming in your veins and everything else immediately pales, and all I can think is how lost I'd be if we'd never met, and how the world is in full colour cuz of you and how completely crazy you make me and how beautiful you are and how much I love you."

"Jesus Christ," he laughs. "Fuck," he says wryly, echoing my earlier words, "I'm turning into a pile of goo, here."

"Sorry," I smile.

"Don't be."

* * *

We lean in, natural as can be, and our mouthes fall together in a sweet, soft tangle, after which, we part, just.

"So for real ?" he asks, eyes liquid. "I'm, like, _really_ your first ?"

I take a deep breath and answer him truthfully.

"_Yes."_

* * *

.

* * *

Hugely epic as it is to hear, as this whole entire uber-surreal weekend has been, and buzzy and madly loved as I'm feeling ... stupid thing's still nagging at me.

"Can't help it. I still wanna know."

"What ?" he asks.

I grin.

"How did I _look_ ?"

He laughs.

"Oh, that. Okay, well … yes. How about, um, indescribably hot ? I mean, _insane_. In fact, if I had it on dvd, I'd masturbate to that image, daily."

I bust out laughing at the favorable comparison to porn.

He then blows me back, for about the 40th time this weekend.

"It was sort of like a christening, you know."

"A christening," I deadpan, dumfounded.

"Ya."

I study his eyes a moment, which are gleaming like I've never seen ... and it suddenly _clicks_.

"A _beginning_."

He grabs for my hand and giggles a bit.

"_Yes."_

_Wow._

"Fuck," I say, adrenalin pumping, "that's like, _perfect_. I mean, again, not the look I'd been going for, cuz I totally wanted to rip your head off, but if it represented some sort of gateway to like, gayness, or whatever-"

"-Baptism," he dares add, seeing no irony – there _isn't_ any - in the quasi-religious allegories.

"Goddamit, _yes !" _I erupt. "Fucking holy _baptism,"_ I shout. "'I now pronounce you _queer' !_"

He doubles over laughing, and it's frightening, how happy it makes me.

"Definitely," I tell him. "I'll totally, totally take it, Max."

* * *

.

* * *

Having now twice been called a certain pet name, this utterance almost makes me wince.

I caress his cheek.

"That's the other thing it'll take me a year to get past, you know."

"Hm ?"

"The thing you said to me under your breath, coupla minutes ago."

His face drops, and flushes.

"_Shit."_

I laugh.

"Did I ?" he fidgets. "_Shit_."

"Too late," I tease, "no taking it back. Specially where you said it twice."

"_Twice ? !"_

"_Yes !"_

"Well it'd been on the tip of my tongue for hours," he admits, embarrassed.

My heart catapults into the air.

"_Really ! ?_" I shriek.

"Ya," he laughs, then shrugs. "Cat's outta the bag, I guess." He grabs my hand, eyes twinkling away. "Besides, it's what people in love do, right ? Call each other embarrassing, gay-arse names ?"

"Yes," I laugh, leaning towards his lips. "Gay-er the better."

* * *

.

* * *

"So," he says, teasing, but all final and assured. "_Say_ it, then. Or," he giggles, "no more sex, today."

I laugh, but damn, why does Maxxie-in-charge, even in jest, have to be so bloody _hot_ ?

I hesitate a moment, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, to pretend I'm not _completely_ wrapped round his little finger.

"_Please_ ?" he asks, instantly crumbling my momentary resolve with those big, puppy dog eyes.

I slide a hand up, behind his neck, into that golden head of hair ... and as his meet mine, it falls, helpless, from my lips.

"_Baby."_

* * *

As the kiss deepens, and begins to resemble a shag, complete with moans and slippery suction sounds, he pulls off.

"What ?" I mutter, a bit in shock at the sudden parting.

He's staring at his own hand.

"Been in the shower way too long. We're turning into wrinkled prunes."

_So fucking what_, I want to snap, but he's already pulling me out of the stall and into the main area of the loo.

"Hotel'll probably charge us for extreme water over-use," he grins, which turns to a groan when he spies the clock. "Oh shit. Look, Tone, it's almost 11 o'clock !"

"So _what_," I blurt, as he reaches for a towel and begins running it through his hair.

"But you had loads you wanted to do outside."

I go to protest, but instead am caught up watching the path taken by the fluffy white material ... running along that bronzed, bumpy chest, over those perfect ripply abs, down his crotch and both legs; taken in each hand, flipped overhead and rubbed side to side behind his back and shoulders, which, without looking, I can see is causing his cock to sway _just so_ ... and finally when he turns away to face the mirror, smoothing over the jutting, muscular curves of that glorious, god-given arse, which is paler than the rest of him, I notice, but not by much, which conjures in my mind the picture of Maxxie doing naughty things, things he's never told me … skinny dipping in the ocean, or maybe, nude sun bathing in some hot boy's back garden while the parents are away, the two of them teasing and messing around and then finally doing it right there on the lounge chair, while a pervy neighbor wanks off to the sight of two fit, achingly perfect cheeks rising and falling in the open sunlight, or even, _gulp_, parting and being fiercely plowed … and as I'm having these dizzying thoughts I'm struggling to remember what in hell it was I was going to say to defend my position in the first place, that we hereby officially _ignore_ frigging Brighton for the rest of the weekend and _fuck_ whatever it is I thought I had wanted to do … but he keeps talking, saying something about the sun streaming through the closed curtains and what a good beach day it probably is out there and something about this one shop he absolutely, definitely must visit because he's wanted to go there for ages and it'll be closed tomorrow ... and his lips keep moving but I'm not really hearing it because as he speaks, he's taken the towel, the same one that's just passed over his entire body, and turned it on me ... running it first through my hair, and over my shoulders, and I'm sort of transfixed, because it's somehow weirdly erotic to the point where it's making my flesh tingle, the knowledge that this same material just seconds before, rubbed into and all _over_ Maxxie's pure, perfect body, caressing every ripple and nipple and bump, absorbing his scent, soaking up whatever semblance of sweat or microscopic bits of skin cells may have been left, and it strikes me that I might just need to eat the bloody towel … all while he's blathering on, completely oblivious, standing behind me to dry everything back there, and by the time he makes it round front ... I'm semi-hard ... only he doesn't notice.

"And anyway," he says, drying my neck and chest, "if you don't get at least a _teeny_ bit of a tan, I'll feel bad. You'll look better and you'll _feel_ much better; plus, I've read it's how your body best absorbs vitamin D."

As the towel slides lower and he continues talking, I shut my eyes in embarrassment.

At my hip, he stops dead.

"Tony Stonem, you randy bastard."

* * *

I burst out laughing. I can't help it.

"We have lots to _do_," he protests.

"Yes," I grin. "Lots."

"I mean, _out_side."

I swear I can feel a twinkle forming in my eye.

"You said five times. Only been _three_."

He takes a deep breath and proceeds to do a horridly bad job of trying to look annoyed.

"I know, Tone, but … we've done it tons, haven't we ? And we only have a couple of days in town." He raises my arm and absently rubs the towel along it. "Can't you take a rain check for like, later ?"

* * *

.

* * *

"I wanna fuck you," he deadpans, which, I mean ...

_WOW !_

My arse muscles involuntarily twitch. Yes, there truly is nothing like a meat and potatoes man, however, says my brain, seeing as it would sort of be his first time ... I _do_ want it to be perfect. Eager as he may be to cross this very significant line, and understandable as that is, at the same time, it's too critical, too important a thing to _rush_.

Plus, getting fucked by Tony – physically penetrated for the very first time by my best friend - who just happens to be the love of my life - is just a teensy bit scary.

* * *

"But Tone, it takes a lot of y'know, _prep_. I have to be properly prepared, beforehand. It's not a quick process."

"Who says I want it to be quick ?"

"But," I fidget, a part of me disbelieving that I'm actually trying to _turn Tony away,_ "we can completely take our time, later, and like, honor it, and stuff, and do it totally right. And there'll be that sweet, hot buildup all day if we wait, which'll make it that much more amazing. And in the meantime we can go to the beach and do all that other stuff we wanted to do in Brighton – the whole reason we came here."

His face and I swear, his cock, fall, at least slightly, as if I've thrown cold water at it.

Damn.

"I know, baby," he pouts … and with that gorgeous little utterance, my brain nearly blanks out, so that I almost don't hear the rest: "I know that all makes sense. But I can't help it. I still wanna fuck you."

_Did you hear that ? _My brains screams._ Tony wants to FUCK you ! Are you an idiot ? !_

"But I see your point," he continues, taking the towel from my hand and slotting it over the nearby railing. "I'm just being a selfish arsehole. You paid a lot of money for this trip, and we have limited time, so it would suck to waste it." He turns and grins wickedly. "I'll just have to remember to bang you extra hard later on."

And with that, I completely unravel.

In a last ditch effort to keep from flinging my wanting, pleading arse over the sink and thrusting it high into the air, I take a deep, steady breath, and speak quietly.

"Wait for me in the bedroom."

_"Wha- ?_"

"-I've changed my mind. You're going to fuck me; I just need a bit of time to prepare."

He looks startled.

"But baby-"

"Oh _shit_," I moan, grabbing his face with both hands and practically sucking it off before pulling back. "Go and wait in the bedroom, please. I'll be in in a few minutes. And then you're going to fuck my brains out."

* * *

.

* * *

So I walk, in a daze, out of the room, knees wobbling like I'm 90, but he follows me, having forgotten that he left his 'sex bag', as he calls it, in his suitcase.

And I'm not sure what in hell to do. Be careful what you wish for, isn't that what the Chinese proverb says ? So I just sit on the edge of the bed, nervous out of my mind, watching him rummaging until he pulls out a small plastic bag containing god knows what, and carries it back with him into the loo. I then hear a soft _clunk_, as the door shuts behind him.

* * *

It's been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn't it ? The few seconds between my fuck declaration, being turned down and realizing he's right – it's probably best to wait so that we get it right, etc., and besides, I am _pretty_ fucking antsy about the prospect - only to have the decision be made for me that we are indeed going to fuck, after all.

Sigh. To think I used to be a top.

_But why_, says my brain, when the other way around is so goddamn bloody _delicious_ ?

* * *

I stand, and start pacing. Shit, I am nervous. I mean, I understand the mechanics of it. I look down. My dick's certainly eager – mind of it's own, they say. I've seen enough porn, both gay and straight, now. It's like getting on a bicycle – once you know, you don't ever really forget, do you ? Just plow the motherfucking hole. Not exactly astro physics.

What if I'm no good, though ? Maxxie's experienced. He's told me how some blokes sucked.

Shit, I _want_ to, though. It's supposed to feel incredible – like nothing else.

I want to _bad_.

_Arrhhhhgggg_. Why can I not _remember_ what it's like ? ! It might help. I don't mind being a virgin about some things. In fact, in a way it's turned out to be absolutely fucking amazing. But why about _this_ ? _The_ central activity of sex ? The one Maxxie really likes.

Maybe he should've fucked _me_, first.

Okay, maybe not. It's _too_ fucking scary, a dick up my arse. _A dick up my arse ?_ Christ, is that really what we're talking about ? And there's supposed to be pain. Fuck. It's just awkward, the blushing, jittery first timer going and fucking the one with all the experience.

* * *

Pace, pace, sweat.

Christ, it feels like an hour. What's he _doing_ in there ?

Sit. Think.

Prepping himself. Preparing the hole so you can go in and it won't hurt, or will hurt less. Probably greasing himself up. Using his hands to part those exquisite cheeks and sliding a finger, or two, inside ...

_Fuck._

I know, once again, that I'm supposed to be put off by this – revolted, even. Maxxie should've been put off by licking my arse for fuck's sake, but he wasn't. Not by a mile. He threw himself into it and we both got off. Same with my scars. It's like he's madly in love with every inch of me, no matter how foul or deranged or unsightly. And right now he wants me to plunge my cock into the deepest recess of his body.

The problem I have with that is ... ?

* * *

He's gonna pop through that door any second and expect me to be ready. Should I lie on the bed ? How are we gonna do this ? Where are the bloody condoms ? What if it doesn't work ?

_What is taking him so long ? _

Dildo. That's what he's doing. Not fingers. I remember now. He has a special 'prep piece' I think he calls it, that's small at the tip and wide at the base and he slowly inserts it and ...

Oh shit. Can I get any harder ? And _why_ in fuck is he making me wait like this ? Fucking little prick tease.

* * *

I move towards the door. I'll just open it a crack, (pardon the pun), and then peak, (ditto).

Nervous out of my brain, I approach, and it turns out the door's part way open, just by a hair. I peer in and … holy bleeding christ. Never seen anything like it in my life. He's laid himself forward, over the big sink base cabinet thing. I can see in the mirror that his eyes are shut, and he's, _christ_ … slowly plunging this big pinkish-purple thing into his rear – and it even has balls ! Imitation testicles that slap softly into his cheeks like the real thing would during sex. Which is just so insanely hot I can't stand it.

I don't even wanna interrupt him, he looks so goddam content, I mean, what does he need _me_ for ? So I just watch as he reaches a hand round front to grab his own dick, while the other, the whole while, works and works that sex toy, as I believe they call it ... and I'm about to pop my frigging clogs.

It's one thing watching the boy you love masturbate. _This_ is fucking watching him ... _fuck ... himself_.

And look at that face ! He's clearly in the midst of some super erotic agony/ecstasy thing, all while he's undoubtedly picturing some hot guy.

Me ? No, I can't believe that. I can't. He doesn't even know I'm here. Too caught up. His eyes are sealed shut and he's panting enough to fog the mirror and his lips are wet from being repeatedly licked as he gets himself ready ...

_Fuck_, what a sight. If I could just step into his fantasy, partake in some way. Remind him I'm here, and waiting. Maybe help him stroke himself off. Or, actually, yes: stand in front of him, and, as he fucks himself, yank that head back, and make him take me by mouth.

_Shit ! _My dick says._ Whatever it is, you'd better do something quick !_

Oh my god, _look_ at him: that back, all arched and sinewy smooth and damp. And good christ, those sinfully perfect, achingly round _cheeks_, the ones that he knows are beautiful, the ones he's strutted round boldly outdoors in the bright sun – the way they _jut, _so shameless, just absolutely screaming at you …

I kick open the door.


	21. Headlong Into The Next Century

And like _that_ he's in the room. I leap up, positively mortified. How long was he standing there ? !

"_Tony," _I snap, red-faced, "_what the –!"_

"_You fucking little prick tease,"_ he growls, reaching for my prep-dildo, Aloysius.

Oh no. Oh no. I won't survive this.

With my last ounce of dignity, I turn quickly away, but my resolve, and my voice, are a wispy field of daisies. "I told you to _wait_-"

And then it's over, that mouth a soft, masterful vice grip, and I'm being shoved, bent backward over the sink ... and it's like a dream, like something I've never allowed myself even to imagine, being mauled so feverishly by Tony ... but quickly it's awkward, painful, even, seeing as my hand, and Aloysius are both getting squished ... but then ...

Quickly, before I realize it, I'm lifted, by the hips, and ..._ holy fucking shit ..._ all but tossed onto the bloody counter; my knees bent and stretched wide ... and quickly he moves between, mashing me, mouth first, right into the giant bloody wall mirror ... out of the corner in which I spy the pale outline of that long, lean form, pitched determinedly towards what it wants.

And before I have time to process it ... he's reaching, between us, and for a second I think he's going for my cock which has sprung up hard and tight, but no ... it's lower, that he wants ... and I look into that face as he looks down, staring at this _thing_ protruding from my body ._.._ and here we are_ ._.. two boys, opposites, it seemed at one time, whom fate and freakish circumstances have made best mates, whom a weekend has made yes, _lovers_, whom raging lust has crammed headlong into a bloody wall ... and my god, those dark lips have gone pale as the rest of him, the full, lower one dragging backward as it's dug into by a tooth ... those blue pools reflecting like a mirror, literally turned on ...

He takes hold of it, the nether reaches of Aloysius, and speaks softly.

"_This is so fucking perverted."_

I gulp. Is this more dirty talk, or is he actually disapproving ?

"It's even got _balls_," he snorts, fiddling with them.

"I _like_ balls," I snap, mildly indignant.

He stops, "I know you do," he says, gently cups their real life, nearby counterpart.

I squirm. I gulp down a pocket of air. I lick my drying lips.

"I do, too," he offers.

Okay. Fuck. Holy FUCK. He continues, oblivious, as if we're having a normal conversation.

"At some point, I have the feeling I'm gonna wanna put these in my mouth," he has the nerve to deadpan, eying and caressing the quivering sac. "I won't know what in hell I'm doing, but I'm pretty sure that's coming."

And my brain freezes – cannot accept, how could it ? - that Tony would say such a thing to me, and so it presumes that we are the middle of an all-out wank-fest of a fantasy, a majorly spliffed-up hallucination ... either that or this hotel, this _loo_, somehow exists within an otherworldly sphere, some sort of all-powerful, hypnotic sensual gay forcefield, where the Erotic and the Miraculous collide with the Perversely Wicked, on their way to the Great Orgasmic Impossible.

I look at him. Through the hazy fog of disbelief, arousal, confusion and sheer glee, Tony comes into focus.

"But I think that can wait, can't it ?" he says. "You like balls, Max, but I think you like _cock_ better."

* * *

And it's all in slow, dreamy motion, a boy being turned round in place ... the insertion slipping from him, unnoticed, forgotten, to the floor ... the two watching each other in the mirror, each as nervous, as madly turned on, as the other ... and it's like a physical caress, the steamy intensity of their mutual gaze, behind which, nothing is hidden.

* * *

He wraps me tight, in his arms from behind ... and there it is against my back, in glorious full colour tangibleness, the firm, warm, agitated flesh.

"I'm nervous as fuck," he says suddenly, kissing the side of my neck.

"Me, too," I admit, cupping his face in my hand.

He nibbles on my lobe. I'm some place far off in the stratosphere.

"You know what ?" he asks.

"Mmhwhat ?"

"I sort of can't believe I ever got hard for anyone else."

Okay ... even in a weekend of magic and mayhem, here is Tony, without realizing, and despite the subject matter, managing to say what is maybe the most romantic thing I will ever hear.

Before I can dissolve into a swooning, pansyboy puddle, I take, and carefully lay open his palm, into which I deposit a small tube and smaller square envelope. I meet his gaze in the mirror, and whisper.

"_Fuck me."_

* * *

.

* * *

Nervousness is about the brain, an organ which has famously failed me. Blinding, craving _need_, however, is purely about the cock. And, as it happens, that part of me works just fine.

Mouth dry, and with trembling hands, I manage to slip the condom over the swelling and lather myself in goo, noting the thinnest sliver separating us. How incredible, these last moments of my virginity; these last moments before his body opens, and accepts mine.

* * *

After two awkward, embarrassing attempts, during which I somehow miss – slipping upright between his cheeks - I mark the target with a finger, which makes him gasp and jump in place, and then guide the gooey tip, nudging at first, and then simply ... _press_ ... at long fucking bloody last ... _inward._

And ... I mean,

_what _

_a _

_moment_.

* * *

To have looked forward to _the act _for what feels like a bloody goddam lifetime- to have fought and wrestled as badly with it as I have, daydreamed and pleaded with the gods and cursed them for their abandonment, to have, in abject despair, all but abandoned the body part, myself – impossible task, that, as the sick bastards have seen to it that impotent males must still touch themselves daily in order to _piss_ ... only to suddenly find yourself in the middle of the organ's very purpose in life, it's reason for being – to encase itself _in the middle of another human being_, (even if you never imagined that being as male) ... is something so monumental as to represent _the_ significant, magnificent dividing line of your life. That pathetic creature over there, was me, _before; _this, is me, _now. _I've joined the human race, I speak it's language, and I'm never going back.

But it's deeper, even, than that. What we are doing, Maxxie and I, is about blood; enzymes and DNA and churning gastric acids, _genetics;_ history and _pre_-fucking-history. This is light and energy and instinct and soul. This is the act of becoming alive.

* * *

I move, lovingly coaxed to do so, and he moves with me. We are a single unit connected in time and space, and I can't quite grasp that what I'm feeling is _him_, _from the inside. _Can't quite grasp the intensity of the sensation that it is to be housed, encased in complete, contented warmth, all needs met, as if nothing else mattered but this place where we're joined, this perfect passage that loves you and wants you and holds tight to you ... and yet at the same time, you find that a part of you is also slightly fearful to surrender yourself to these mysterious and slightly scary depths.

* * *

I open my eyes. His meet mine in the mirror. The blue in them is rich, world's deep, alive. It's almost surreal, how completely he's with me inside of this perfect bubble ... mouth parted in an indelicate "O", jolting and rocking with every thrust, in the literal midst of this inexplicable but absolutely brilliant and _necessary_ act of one body absorbing another ... and it's so good I can't quite grasp it ... Can't believe that people would dare demean it, for it's possibly the most fantastic thing that ever was, to be _this_ close, _this_ intimate with another being ... to move, to _drive_ yourself by the most primal of all instincts, relentlessly _IN-IN-IN,_ reaching each time for the furthest, deepest point ... and it's so exquisitely _fine_ that somewhere along the way your brain give up, checks out ... and with that last filter gone, you are but one thing: A creature of _sense_, without any ability to know which is turning you on more: the feel and rhythm of two gliding, melded bodies; the taste and scent of naked, salted flesh; the rough, raw noises you are pulling from each other; or the sight in the mirror of the whole thing: an unspeakably beautiful animal-boy, one hand flat against the mirror to steady himself, the other white knuckling the sink as he is mercilessly fucked – shredded – wasted – laid into in withering fashion, so hard that his hips are jumping, over and over, off the counter as you bang him headlong into the next century.

* * *

.

* * *

In the middle of this assault, this no, _pulverization_, when I've lost all ability to reason or think, and cannot accept, even with the evidence in the mirror, that that really is _Tony_ behind me, he chooses to lean forward, slide a hand up into my hair, and as if I'm not generally finished enough as a human being, growls into my ear ...

"_You filthy fucking slut."_

I let out a helpless, gurgling shriek.

"_You perverted cocksucking faggot ..."_

"_Yes !" _I plead, except for the third word, which is merely a statement of fact, not exactly sure what it is I'm so gleeful to agree with.

And then he switches gears and simply makes a general observation:

"_Ramming it up your sweet ..." _(slam)_ ..."tight ..." _(slam)_ "fuck hole." _

"_Mhhghh !" _I wheeze.

And then his voice changes. I glance quickly in the mirror to see Tony's red, sodden face, and watch as the hand in my hair grips and yanks, jerking my head backward as he tells me in normal, if spent tones:

"I used to be a top, y'know."

_? ! ? ! ? ! ? USED to be ? ! ? ! ? ! ? _

And then, as if it isn't all delicious enough, I both feel and see his free hand encircle and begin steady pulling on my cock, and as he speaks further, I lose all hope:

"_Fucking nasty little pricktease cockwhore SLUT."_

And with that, I'm gone; the tingle springing up from my toes, ricocheting through my nervous system and finally _bursting_ out me so hard I see stars.

* * *

.

* * *

He falls limp like a wet, pink ragdoll, wheezing for his life, and as incredible a thing as it is to watch and as much as a part of me wants to stop and marvel at what it is that's just happened; what _I, alone, have just caused ..._ something in me needs instead to keep going, to in fact, pound him not only through it, but past it, hurtling now deeper and faster, balls slapping, driven by utter madness towards the nearing, gathering storm, this thing that I fear might just kill me ... and so I dig ruthlessly in, bruising and then piercing the flesh-barrier to grip each hip bone, encircling and biting and then severing his left ear, fucking a deep hole clean through to the other side of his body ... somewhere during which my blood heats up and thins, quicker to fly through my veins like a runaway train ...

And I'm a little bit afraid, for my lower half teeters and flutters and shakes like never before ... a sensation winds through me that I don't recognize ... holds ... holds ... and then shatters, _ripping_ free ... causing me to _scream_ inside his larynx, and collapse forward.

* * *

It's several minutes before I know where in hell I am and what the fuck just mother ... fucking ... happened.

I force open my eyes, and in the mirror I can see they are still within my head, that my body hasn't melded with Maxxie's, after all. See ? There is my face, planted up next to his, our two mouthes swung open, taking in air as we struggle to make our way back from planet _Good Fuck._

* * *

I have no idea what to do. How do you come down from such a thing ? How can you walk around like a normal person – eat, shit, make conversation – without it showing on your face, that a tidal wave has just swallowed you whole ? That you've come so hard and so thoroughly that it's rewired your brain ? Or perhaps, short-circuited it ?

Things can't every really be the same now, can they ?

And how about the knowledge that this was available to you all along – that you could've had this a thousand times over by now, to the point where you maybe took it for granted or were even in the privileged, ridiculously spoiled position of actually growing _bored_ ... had you just gotten your motherfucking shit together sooner.

* * *

Slowly, eventually, the corners of his mouth turn up. He runs a hand up my temple, into my hair.

"You know what I'm thinking ?" he pant-whispers.

It takes me a minute to answer.

"No," I say, clearing my parched throat. "Don't ask me to think – all done, there."

He laughs.

"I'm thinking of like ... a medical experiment, where they join us up like this, permanently."

I chuckle hoarsely, as much as my battered lungs will allow.

"Siamese twins."

"Yes," he nods. "Brunette and blonde."

I kiss his ear. (Yup, still intact.)

"But then you'd have to carry me round on your back."

"No. You'll just walk really close behind me."

We laugh wearily.

"Or you'll stand on my feet."

"Or maybe they'll give us roller blades."

"No, a big skateboard."

"A sexual skateboard."

I shut my eyes and settle my face into the warmth of his neck, into a perfect, silent, sleepy, love-buzz head space.

"You were amazing, Tone," he finally whispers, rousing me from my contented state. My eyes creep open and he speaks to their reflection. "I'm not kidding. _Absolutely fucking_ _amazing_."

I smile – I have no way to gauge it – too soon. I know that I feel like I maybe sorta lost it; got majorly carried away, like I became somebody else. Or maybe, the me I used to be.

He grins.

"Only problem being, I might have trouble walking."

We chuckle.

"So you have to tell me," he continues. "Suspense is a killer. How was it ?"

"Um ..." I answer lazily, but my brains dies right there.

He laughs.

"_That_ good ?"

I smile.

"_Yes."_

"Unspeakably so."

"Ya, no, it was ... just ... fucking … _ahhh_," I take in and let out a big breath. "What can I say ? Even given everything we've done, I still didn't know the human body was capable of such _incredibly_ intense sensations. Almost too much to like, withstand."

"But in a good way," he offers.

"Ya, ya. _Really_ fucking good." I kiss his ear. "I never knew your arse was such a goldmine."

He gasps in mock outrage.

"But why wouldn't I have ?" I say, hands caressing his chest, lips sliding to his shoulder. "Look at this _body_. _Christ_. You're so fucking hot, and fit, and _perfect_. Hopefully you'll let me mine for gold a lot."

He shrieks out a huge laugh.

"I guess I just didn't know anything could top what I've already felt."

* * *

.

* * *

"Top," I say. "Yes, _top_ might be the operative word here."

"Hmm ?"

I lay a hand over the one at my waist.

"I think you've maybe just discovered that you were _born_ to top, Tone."

He shrugs. He says nothing for a minute.

"It was just … it felt good. I couldn't sorta control it."

"You were _brilliant_." I raise my hand to cup his face and purr. "Total natural – complete monstrous animal – positively _glorious_. The rough stuff, especially."

"Hmm ?" he murmurs. "Rough stuff ?"

I whisper.

"When you yanked on my hair, Tone, and then all the _shit_ you said."

He runs his nose through my hair and neck, giving me a great _sniff, _before responding.

"Baby, what are you on about ?"

_Dear god, if he only knew what that little word did to me ! _

"Come _on_, Tone. You picked me up and threw me at the mirror ! You called me a faggot and a slut ! Or have you forgotten already ?"

He looks at me in the mirror, incredulous.

_"What ? !"_

"You did !" I laugh.

He blinks a moment.

"Seriously ?"

"_Yes !"_ I shriek. "Do you really not remember ?"

He looks off, thinking, processing this, and finally chuckles in disbelief.

"Jesus … fuck, I mean, ya ... I guess ... I guess I did. I sort of have this vague recollection, but ..."

I shift, and his by now softened cock slips free. We are two separate and distinct individuals, again. _Sigh_.

We turn to face each other.

"You really are too incredible for words," I tell him.

He grins shyly.

"I fucking love you to pieces."

My heart springs up and flutters about in my chest.

"I love you too, my angel."

He jerks his head back in surprise.

"Your _what_ ?"

I shrug.

"Sorry. Couldn't hold back any longer." I grin, echoing his own explanation: "Been on the tip of my tongue for hours."

He searches my eyes.

"Seriously ?"

"Yes, Tony !" I laugh. "It's lovely, isn't it ? Our own private pet names. I've always wanted that."

"But that one doesn't _fit_. I'm not exactly an angel. I'm more of an arsehole, actually."

"Stop it, Tone. You're not."

"But just look at my choice of language when we _do it," _he grins, "Totally horridly offensive and like, completely politically incorrect."

I reach, tug on the end of his condom, which easily slips free, and toss it into the bin next to us.

"Yes, thank god; and boiling motherfucking hot. It's the second time you did that, by the way – the dirty talk."

"Fuck; really ? ? Jesus christ. Why don't I remember this ?"

I place a hand on his chest, and caress a jutting nipple.

"You're the best possible kind of lover, that's why."

He grins crooked.

"I thought you didn't like that word."

"Shut up."

"_'Old sleazy queens',_ remember ?"

"Shut UP. When discussing sexual _performance_, it's entirely appropriate."

"Oh ?" he says, cocking a teasing eyebrow. "So angels are good sexual performers, are they ?"

"Of course. Particularly when they get lost inside of it to _that_ degree," I tell him, walking my fingers up his chest and grinning sly, "when they actually manage to make _me_ feel like a virgin ..."

He shakes his head.

"Sorry, I can flutter my wings and say a million prayers but _nothing's_ gonna bring _that_ back."

"Fuck off !" I snap, mock indignant, turning away, but he grabs my shoulders and turns me back.

"Oh baby, I'm kidding !" He kisses me quick. "If I could make you a virgin again, I would, just so we could lose our virginity _together_."

"Awww !"

We laugh. We kiss lazily. It's positively glorious. I want it to go forever, til we die, but exhaustion and breathlessness have other ideas.

"So it was good for you, then ?" I grin. Then stop. "Seriously, I mean."

"Seriously ? Truthfully ?"

"Yes, of course, ya twat."

"Well … no," he deadpans. "If I'm entirely honest. No, actually. Not really."

I stop dead. _But_ … _didn't he just say ... Did I … did I somehow misinterpret everything ?_

He takes my hand.

"Wrong word."

"Wrong word ?" I ask, still slightly taken aback.

"_Ya._ It wasn't 'good', Max. Not even close," he grins. "It was _absolutely fucking_ _miraculous_."

* * *

_Author's note:_

Thanks for your patience in waiting for this chapter and not giving up on the story. I haven't, it's just that life has been encroaching. Also, I'm not only preparing to be laid off from my job in a few months, but preparing at the same time to go to Paris for the first time ever, in mid-September, to help a sibling celebrate a milestone birthday. (Sometimes, even as disaster looms, one must sieze life by the testicles.)

Bits of inspiration for this chapter can be found in the flawless UK version of the series _Queer As Folk,_ the flawed but brilliant HBO mini series _Angels In America, _and the mini series based on the Evelyn Waugh novel _Brideshead Revisited._

PS. All reviewers will be blessed with health and riches, and ultimately inherit the earth.


	22. The Half Moment Before

"I'm telling you," he says, face alight, if weary, "that was … fucking ... _crazy_-intense. How come I didn't know fucking was so ball-shatteringly good ?"

I burst out laughing.

"'_Ball shattering' _– ouch ! Sounds painful."

"How come ? I'm serious. Why did you never tell me ?"

I grin.

"Well … come on, Tone. It's maybe not something you can describe, really, is it ? You sorta gotta experience it yourself."

He looks off in a semi-daze.

"Ya, I guess."

"Gotta admit, it sorta feels funny, the idea of _me_ describing sex to _you_. You're twice, if not three times as experienced as me, y'know, in real life terms."

"Real life abandoned me a while back, if you recall. It's alternate universe time for Tony; the universe where he's madly in love with a _boy_ and happy as a fucking clam about it, thank you."

_Oh_, but my heart does soar a few thousand feet into the air ...

He leans down for a soft peck.

"In _this_ universe, New Tony's got exactly _one_ banging under his belt - uno, unum, eins, singular, fucking _one_."

I squint.

"Okay, did you just speak in like four languages there ?"

He grins.

"Baby," he says, and yes, for the record, it _does_ still make me tingle, "I need as many modes of expression _possible_ to try and get my head around this."

I reach for his hand.

"I know that big brain of yours thrives on complex equations and shit, but in this case, don't. It's like trying to explain, y'know, the secrets of the universe, or something; why flowers grows or the sun shines."

"Well shit, that's easy; the sun is essentially an enormous, superheated plasma-ball-"

"_Tony_-"

He laughs and pulls me to him. He kisses my forehead.

"I'm _teasin'."_

I turn my head sideways against his chest. He smells unmistakeably post-sexual: musky, sweaty, utterly delectable.

"It really is the best thing that ever was, though, ya ?" he asks, his voice far off.

I chuckle, nod, and let out a big, satisfied sigh.

"Total magic. 'Specially when you're in love."

"Mm."

We hold each other a moment.

"What's it like when you're not ?"

I raise a hand to caress his chest.

"Well … not terrible, I admit. Or, well … really it depends on who you're with. All I know is, it's not a patch on how it felt just now, with you. Not even close. How could it be ?" Big sigh. "I don't think I'll ever believe it, Tone. You and me, together. I mean, in my whole _life_ -"

-I then hear a noise … something rhythmic and rumbly … what the … ?

I pull away … and fuck if Tony isn't _snoring_.

Bastard. I watch. Is he teasing me again ?

The deep rumble continues – no. _Fuck_. Somehow he's actually managed to drift off, right in the middle of my little speech, _whilst standing up_.

I want to be annoyed, but how can I ? Poor baby's peaked-out, utterly wasted … _from too much sex_.

How many things in this world are both hot, and at the same time, also rather adorably sweet ?

I brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes and watch, enjoying for a moment, the undetected ogling of his face. He really is uncommonly beautiful, this I already knew, and yet, once again, in his flushed, spent, post-orgasm state, somehow crazily moreso. A tall, pale, damp, unbearably sexy ragamuffin with a shock of messy black hair, and even with the shades pulled on them, intensely piercing eyes.

A sound resembling a broken flugelhorn reverberates through his chest, causing his lips to flutter slightly. Jesus christ, he really _is_ quite prepared to sleep the day away, standing upright here in the loo.

I take his hand. I whisper softly.

"_Come on."_ I pull him slowly, being careful to clutch his shoulder lest he fall, and to my surprise he follows, shuffling along like an old man for several steps. At the doorway, his eyes drift open.

"Everybody should fuck," he slurs, muttering under his breath, still half asleep.

I stifle a laugh.

"Yes I'm sure," I whisper, pulling him more. "Right now you need a _nap_."

He takes a few more steps and then stops dead.

"Huh … what ?" He shakes his head. "No I don't."

He's stock still and rooted to the floor, now, resisting the gentle and not so gentle tuggings on his hand, and it strikes me that this must have been what Tony's mum went through every night he was a toddler.

"Shh," I say gently, pulling on him. "Quiet. Off to bed with you. Just for a bit."

"No fucking way," he says, now wide awake. "Not unless you come with me."

"Tone, don't be a shit. You're so exhausted, you just fell asleep standing _up_, for fuck's sake."

This stops him. He looks off, pondering.

"Really ? Cool."

"Well, it _won't_ be cool if I have to drag your arse all over Brighton." I yank hard and pull him two more feet. "You need a nap and that's all there is to it."

"Don't want a bloody nap. Wanna _fuck_."

"Tony, don't be ridiculous ! You've come, like, eight times in the past twelve hours."

He shoots me a grin.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Wanker." I push against him and he takes a few backward steps and plops down to sit on the edge of the bed. "We've had more sex in the past day than any two people should, you know."

He takes my hand.

"Yes, it's terribly shameful," he says as his eyes twinkle and glow, "All the same, you can't _seriously_ expect me to have my first taste of _fucking_ ..." he leans forward slightly, "_ever. First_ taste of the inside of your magnificent, award winning bubble-butt ..."

"_Award winning ?"_ I shriek.

He ignores me, raises a finger to slowly circle my navel, and then slides it into my pubes to tug gently, softly on the hairs, "... and not want _more. _Like, _lots_._"_

My bottom quivers. It _was_ utterly fantastic … however … oh fuck, the little tuggings really are rather hypnotic. I gulp. I try to force a frown, but it refuses to make an appearance.

"Tone-"

"Come _on_, baby, you _know_ it'll only take a few minutes." His eyes peak coyly from beneath heavy lids, all while he continues the maddeningly gentle rhythmic tug. "How could I last longer than that plowing deep inside a goldmine like yours ? Hm ?" He tilts his face and somehow manages a simultaneously pouty/innocent look, the final move in the seduction game, and as lips move closer to mine, hits me with this: "_Let your man mine for gold." _

_Oh,_ FUCK. Despite the bewitching quality of this phrase, I manage to shore up my last semblance of strength, clamp a hand over his mouth and push him back.

"Tony."

"_What ?"_ he asks in normal, annoyed tones.

"My arse is sore."

"Huh ?" He squints. "Your _arse_ is sore ?"

"Yes, frankly."

Tony doesn't know about these things. How could he ? That when one is on the receiving end of a fierce, genuine pummeling, at the hands of a not-quite-virgin determined to make up for lost time, determined to cram into _The Act_ an entire year's pent up longing, frustration and need … it is indeed, of course, glorious ... while at the same time tending to seriously limit one's ability to withstand or even entertain _round two_. At least for a while.

"You mean, like-"

"-Yes."

"Oh."

Brief pause.

"Didn't realize."

Then:

"How sore are we talking ?"

"Tony, it _aches, _okay ? Also, my hips, my back, everything. You were kind of on fire; a bit out of control. Like I said, monstrous. Not that any of that's bad, but … I just need a bit of respite from fucking, at the moment, that's all."

He has on his face, what I'd term, a little grin. Naughty and pleased with itself.

"Sorry," he offers, through the grin.

"You don't look it."

He laughs.

"No, seriously, Max. I'm not happy you're feeling discomfort; of course I'm not. I'm no sadist." The little grin returns. "It's just that … y'know."

"What ?"

"It's kind of cool, and kind of _hot_, too, that ..."

"_What ? ?"_ I snap.

"That I banged you til it hurt."

"It doesn't _hurt_, Tone, it's just a bit …"

"Ya, I know. You know what I mean, though."

I smile slowly. I lean in to kiss him.

"Ya. It's the whole notion of like, being marked or branded or whatever, right ?" I grin. _"Branded by your man." _

We both ponder this a moment, and laugh.

"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd call yourself _that_, must say."

"Me either," he smiles. "Kinda like it, though."

"Oh, shit, me too."

We laugh again.

He grasps my hand.

"Sorry, though, 'bout your bum. Really."

"S'okay." I shrug. "That _was_ sort of like the hardest pounding it's had in a while."

"Which is saying a lot."

"Fuck _off_ !" I shout.

"Maxxie, I'm kidding !"

He pulls me down to his face for a brief, soft smooch, while I continue to scold him.

"What I said was a _complement, _y'know. I hardly think it should be met with a _crack_."

Suddenly, fueled, no doubt by a combination bone-weary exhaustion and persistent, lingering horniness, he's struck with a case of the giggles.

"What ?" I finally ask, as he grabs his belly.

"Crack," he snorts uncontrollably. "Similar to _bum_crack in that both are notoriously addictive."

I grin. "Perv." I lay a hand on his shoulder and speak earnestly. "Okay, time for bed, my angel. Seriously. You need rest and I need a quick shower, so … Plus my hair's a dreadful mess-"

"-Fuck,_ that'll_ take all day."

"Fuck _off;_ no it won't ! I've got it down to a science – 32 minutes ! And then we'll be fresh and ready for the day."

"Okay," he says too quickly, laying himself flat out on the bed in front of me without bothering to pull up the sheets. "I know you're probably right; you usually are, so I'll just, y'know ..." He takes a big, expansive breath, shuts his eyes, and says all nonchalant, "'Nighty night. Come for me when you're ready."

_Come _for him when I'm_ ready ?_ Clever bastard, I think, eying that luscious, naked form on display not two feet from me, as if I'm not _ready_ for him right this second. Fucker. No. If I'm to be Tony's boyfriend, the one thing I'll bloody well need is backbone. Besides, I am _determined_ to get my money's worth from this weekend, goddamit, all three hundred and fifty pounds of it.

* * *

"Okay," I say, flatly, and turn to walk away.

I make it two inches when I'm snapped back via Tony's hand hooking my elbow so that I've rather quickly, and undelicately, landed on top of him.

"_Tony ! Fuck !"_

On his face sits a triumphant smirk.

"My sentiments exactly !"

* * *

.

* * *

"Christ," he moans. "Just pull my arm outta the socket, why dontcha ?"

"Sorry," I tell him again, incapable of keeping the edges of my mouth from betraying me.

"No you're not," he frowns. "Slippery bastard," he mutters as I pull him down for a kiss.

He pulls back and sits up in a crouch in my lap, just as I'd started to engage in a little mutual cock slithering.

"Don't, Tone. Seriously gotta do my hair."

"But, why ? Think you don't look fuckable enough as it is ?"

"It's not about _fuckable_, tosser. It's about this nightmare of my straightener beginning to fail – I'm a full month out – and the labradoodle's starting to pop up on my head."

I laugh out loud. Christ, he's a hoot.

"But labradoodles are so adorable ! All those curls !"

He runs a hand up into the tangled mess.

"You don't have to _deal_ with them; the tangles, the little _nests;_ _christ_. I look like a Rastafarian in a wind tunnel. Or like my grandmother, Tone – an old woman in a bad, curly blonde wig."

We laugh. I pull him down again for another kiss – slow and serious, this time, complete with his favorite nibble-bites ... and carefully lower a hand to his cock.

Almost immediately he lets out a breathy moan, partly from exasperation.

"Fuck's _sake_."

"It'll only take a minute, Max." I whisper to him. "Fraction of the time you spend on your hair."

"But, Tone-"

_"Shhh_. Let me jack you, at least."

He goes to speak but I cover his mouth with mine and grasp him tighter.

As his hips begin moving in a helpless rhythm, he pulls his face away and glares at me.

"Bastard," he pants. "Why can't I say no to you ? Why ?"

I grin.

"I think you already have said no to me."

He squints and speaks weakly.

"What … what was it about again ?"

"Buttfucking."

He ponders this a moment, then nods solemnly.

"Right."

"Changed your mind ?"

"_No,"_ he says, snapping his hips forward and slurring like a drunk. "Fuck _off."_

* * *

The half moment before Maxxie comes - which of course, lasts more than a half moment, because it's _magic, _akin to the sun burning hot and the flowers opening up to it - his face, just inches from mine, is at war with itself – you can read everything you wanna know about him, about this moment, in this face, I swear. In it, you'll see that he genuinely doesn't _want_ to come, because that would mean, in his mind, that I "won" and that he "caved", and that this maybe sets a bad precedent for us, or is just generally annoying, even if he doesn't right now know that it's the last thing on my mind, keeping score, because I'm transfixed, all of a sudden, completely preoccupied with the knowledge this half moment has given me ... with the movement of his slow surging hips, like the ocean on a cool evening, with this _face_, this scarcely concealed mask of frustration, confusion, euphoria, pissiness, self conscious embarrassment, defiance, vulnerability and flat out lovely, humming, aching, melodic acquiescence, particularly as it creases, particularly as it calls out and the white finally shoots from his body … All of which brings me to the certain exquisite knowledge that, had I not already been in love with him, the bloody deal would have been sealed, no question, right here.

And so I won't gloat; wouldn't dream of it. Because while this started out as old-Tony's little horny/ornery sensual challenge, here on the other side of his "victory", it's me, and Maxxie, the two of us, who have won.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Sincerest apologies for the terribly long delay between chapters, and genuine heartfelt thanks for hanging out with, and not ditching the story. Being away from the story for well over a month is the surest, quickest route to writer's block, which, when it occurs, fucks with you pretty bad. You struggle, you writhe about, you can't 'hear' the characters for the life of you, or get inside their heads, you have only sporadic, fragmented visualizations of the scenes you want to write, which for me is absolutely critical to the whole thing ... and so you stay away from it ... which of course, only adds to the problem ... however the above little ditty I managed on a single, unseasonably warm Sunday, and while it's nothing brilliant, I still sort of like it. Much as I've made Tony a bit anti-Tony in recent chapters, I do in a way love him being his old, obnoxious self, especially when you get to mix him with this new guy who is prone to love-struck, romantic epiphanies._


	23. Tony, In Two Parts

In short, after an hour or so, we …

1) Awaken in a tangled, sticky mess, having each hurtled quickly off to much needed dreamland following my orgasm …

2) Shower, separately, to avoid temptation, each agreeing, (one of us more reluctantly than the other,) that this is best, otherwise, the entire Brighton trip will be blown. (_"So to speak,"_ snorts Tony. "You could also say the whole weekend will be _fucked_.") …

3) And then, at long last, yes it's true ... actually manage to leave the hotel room …

* * *

"Wow", I laugh as we hit the exit doors. "Fresh air. I'd forgotten there was such a thing."

"Fresh air, shmesh air, who gives a toss ?"

"Don't be a tit. Look," I say, making a sweeping gesture with my hand, "it's a _gorgeous_ day here by the sea on our vacation weekend."

"Ya, whatever. Just make sure you don't walk ahead of me at any point today, 'kay? I don't wanna see your gorgeous arse, even the _outline_ of your gorgeous arse, until it's naked and poke-able."

"Poke-able ! I like that ! Like X-rated Pokemon."

He groans.

"Tony. Stop it. _Think_ about all the shit you wanted to do here ! It's only 2 o'clock – we've got the whole rest of the day."

"Ya, ya, okay," he says with a dismissive wave.

"_So … ?"_

"Alright. Let's hit your weird, gay shop first, then maybe the plaster place."

"It's not weird. Perverted maybe; not weird."

"Uh huh."

"Okay, and after, the Royal Pavilion, and I have to get to the dance supply shop."

"Okay. I wanna hit the boardwalk at some point. I think it's open late, so no rush. And more rides. And a movie. And trinkets, we need trinkets, and post cards and shit. I wanna send Effy a particularly stupidarse post card."

"See," I grin. "There's plenty to do besides fucking."

"Please," he says, holding up his hand, "no mentions of the F-word."

I laugh.

"Okay. Well, I need some fridge magnets for mum, and of course, we gotta hit the beach again before sundown."

"Ya, like _well_ before – I'd like to get _some_ semblance of a tan, if we actually aren't going to spend the entire time in the room."

I peruse him a moment.

"Do you know, I actually really love your look exactly as it is ? You just totally rock pale, Tone; you sort of own it."

"You're the one who went on about looking healthy and vitamin D and all that !"

"Well ... I don't know what it is." I look, I grin. "You're _unique_. The normal rules don't seem to apply."

He snorts.

"Fucking right. Tell me it didn't take you all this time to figure _that _out."

* * *

As we make our way down the sidewalk, right away Tony's holding my hand. Shall I say that again ? The beautiful, willful bastard, in full view of the world, is shamelessly holding my hand. This despite, or more likely, _because_ of my warnings about it.

"I'm not gonna say not to, and it's not like I haven't done it in the past, but you have to understand that there's a risk involved – simple fact. And you're not required to do it."

"Required ? I know I'm not _required_. I _want_ to, poofboy."

"And I want to, too. It's just that-"

"-If we're tight enough to fuck, we're tight enough to bloody well hold hands."

"Yes, Tony, but-"

"-I know, Max. We've been over this. You've been my best friend for a year now. I've heard all the stories. But I frankly don't give a fuck what people think-"

"-Nor do _I_, tosser, but that's not what it's about, is it ? So don't try and paint me as a pussy, okay ? I'm just saying, like it or not, there's sometimes a balance to be struck, so we don't end up strapped to a fence in the middle of a field, somewhere."

"Ya, I understand; I get it. You decide, then. I'm just a blushing newbie full of … what do they call it ?"

"Shit ?"

"Funny. No, full of … what is that phrase ? 'Piss and vinegar', or 'spunk' as my dad says – not realizing, of course, nor am I about to tell him, that 'spunk' has other meanings, these days."

"Which his son is learning about first hand, this weekend."

We burst out laughing.

"Anyway, ya," he continues, "Your call. You're the one whose walked in gay shoes all this time; not me."

I look down.

"My shoes are _not_ gay." I stop and turn my ankle slightly. "I'd say they're bisexual, at a minimum. Perhaps metrosexual."

We walk on.

"Is that what I am ?" he deadpans.

"What," I laugh, "metrosexual ? It's just a stupid term. There's really no such thing-"

"-No. _Bi_."

Wow. Okay.

"Oh. Um, well," I stumble. "That's like, y'know, a big question, Tone." I look at him. "Don't know if I really have the answer. This is obviously new for me too, this situation."

"So you've never been with anybody bi ?"

"Well, I don't know, for absolute certain. The main guys I've been with – aside from a couple of straight boys who wanked me off - certainly seemed to be gay, as in no history with women, that_ I_ was aware of, but most of them, I have no idea what they did after me. Truthfully, sometimes people our age are still figuring themselves out, trying things on for size, before they make a final decision, or whatever, and then of course there are people that genuinely swing both ways, for good."

We walk on in silence. It's a bit uncomfortable.

"What do _you_ think ?" I finally ask.

More walking. More silence. He's so deep in thought, he's focusing intently on the sidewalk, as if we were the only ones on it.

"Dunno," he shrugs. "The one thing I _do_ know is, I'm in love with you – there's no getting around that - and you're a _bloke_, so that's gotta mean something, right ? More significantly, we've had sex – _butt_ sex; not just fucking around with our toes in the water, right ? I mean, you fucking came in my face," he stops and says, as if I'd forgotten, exactly at the moment a tour group begins walking by, several members of whom whip their heads to the side as he insists, before I can stop him, and slaps his own thigh to emphasize: "_You fucking came in my face, _Maxxie_. _How amazing is that ? Like, _real deal; _creamy, sticky _splooge_ all over me," he says, fluttering his fingers down said face as mine turns twelve shades of burgundy, leaving me to twice cough out loud and force a non-threatening smile, "and, it hasn't exactly driven me away, has it ? In fact, it's drawn me in even _more_. I can't _wait_ to try out more perversions with you."

By the time we begin moving up the sidewalk again, I'm so thoroughly mortified I can only squeak out a response in a tiny voice.

"Right."

"_'Right' ?"_ he cries. "Is that all you can say; _'right' _? Come _on_, Maxxie. Does it make me a homo, or bi or _what_ ?"

* * *

"_Tony, fuck's sake, what is wrong with you ?_ Do you have to run it up a bloody _flagpole_ ?"

He stops dead. He looks at me, then behind us at the departing tourists as if he's just noticed them for the first time. He looks back, giggling.

"Sorry. Sorta got carried away."

* * *

.

* * *

He half smiles.

"No shit. Well, at least they all know without any doubt that I came in your face."

We burst out laughing.

"Stupid shit," he says, taking my hand, grinning.

"_Sorry_. It's just, for some reason, this feels important, to me, figuring out what the fuck it is that I now am."

"I know, Tone. I fully understand."

I'm silent for a bit, thinking and looking off, and hit with a sudden wave of unexpected sadness.

"'S'weird, isn't it ? Ironic, like. I spent all that time in a coma, _months_ trapped inside my own body not knowing who I was, only to come to and not know who anyone _else_ was, up to and including my own parents … which was just, fuck, unbelievable, still makes me queasy to think about it, and here I am a year later, mostly healed, right ? At least, that's what they tell me, yet I'm back to square one, like a tiny baby, still trying to figure out who the hell I am."

His face softens.

"I know Tone; I'm sorry."

He leans and holds me.

"You've been through so much, the last year. And now here's another big thing that's cropped up." He kisses the side of my neck and release me again. "But … no matter how you ultimately label yourself, main point is, you've crossed a humongous hurdle this weekend- the final hurdle, just in getting yourself back sexually." He reaches and touches my cheek. "Will I come off like a tosser if I say I'm incredibly proud of you ?"

I look at him, incredulous.

"_You_ did that, Max. _You_ brought it about. Not me. If it wasn't for you-"

He shakes his head determinedly.

"-I was just the conduit, Tone. _You_ had to be brave and face something really scary, something that had become debilitating, even, and open yourself up, for it to happen. I really believe that's true. _You_ had to look it in the eye and say _yes_."

"No. That's _total_ psychobabble _bollocks_. It was _you_."

He gives me the loveliest gentle smile.

"This is a pretty fascinating argument. Maybe we'll have to agree to disagree. Bottom line, I just want you to know, no matter the outcome, I'll be there with you the whole way, Tone, I promise - so long as you want me there. I'll even go away if you want me to, if that helps you to adjust, or process things, or whatever."

He squeezes my hand a final time before dropping it.

"I just want you to be okay."

Goddamn. _Goddamn_. The water has shot straight to my eyes and is hanging there, threatening. Because. _That he can do this._ Unabashedly, that Maxxie Oliver can look you dead in the eye and say the most beautiful and extraordinary things; things that slow burn, that pass through you and come out the other side and you're _different_. A _gift_ that he's given, freely, of his heart, his big fucking endlessly generous heart. Can you say selfless ? And fucking so beautiful it's like poetry ?

_Can_ there be a purer definition of love?

And so what am I supposed to _do_ with this face beaming at me ? Bursting at the seams with so much sweetness and good will you want to _die_ of shame over all the sarcastic, flippant shit piled up inside you. I feel both two feet tall, and high as the bloody moon, because somehow, somewhere, inexplicably, I am _something_ in Maxxie's eyes – almost no matter what that is, the very fact that Maxxie feels it's so, makes it true.

* * *

I grab his hand between both of mine, squeezing it as I struggle for words.

"Can we just like, run away together ?"

He smiles.

"That's what this weekend represents, Tone – we've run away."

"No. I mean, for _real_. Move someplace and get a place and make a life together. Can we do that ? Tell me we can."

* * *

.

* * *

You truly never know which Tony you will get these days, one second to the next, the bloke who embraces deepest irony and sarcasm, who bellows out loud in public about the most intimate details of your sex life, who will unknowingly singe your ears with the nastiest imaginable smut in the midst of losing himself in your body … and then the one before you now, the picture of sweet, boyish sincerity and vulnerability ... and it sort of hurts down to your toes, how beautiful it is, how emotional and needy are his eyes, and I just want to throw my arms round him and shield him from the world, protect him from all the hurt he's ever felt.

"Of course we can, Tone; of course. At some point, if we want."

"Sorry," he blurts, impatiently brushing the wetness from his eyes. "I sound like a tosser. I know we can't do anything now; how would we pay the bloody rent ? It's just … I can't help it. I love you so much, it makes my heart hurt."

I laugh, and we reach and hold each other and it's a bit overwhelming, this silent, intensive exchange of energy, this formation of what feels like a lifelong, insoluble bond ... and with that thought, I can't hold back the tears, and so here we stand, Tony and I, making a spectacle of ourselves, crying and sniffling and giggling and shushing each other.

"Okay," he finally pulls back, each of us brushing the wetness from our eyes. "_Enough_ of this pansy arse _shit_, for fuck's sake. It's time we went off into the world like _men_."

"Right," I laugh, nodding. "Now hold my hand as we skip down the sidewalk."

"Yup. On our way to the tutu shop."

"Dance supply shop !" I shriek, as we head off. "They do have tutus but they also have jock straps and even knee pads !"

"_Hot_. Make sure you pick up a pair," he grins, "May need 'em later."

* * *

Half way more down the sidewalk he begins shouting and pointing.

"Hey ! Check it out !"

I look. Diagonally across the road is a movie theater, not the one we were intending to hit later on– a place I've never heard of that must be brand new ... on the marquee of which, in huge letters, is a phrase Tony cannot resist.

"_X-Men !_ Fucking _X_-Men is playing ! How cool is _that_ ? ! Like two weeks early !"

I pull on his hand.

"Straightboy movie, Tone. Who cares ? We have too much to _do_."

"Huh ? No, I _have_ to see this ! Come on, let's at least check what time it's playing."

I sigh in exasperation and follow along behind him as we approach.

"_2:15 !"_ Tony shrieks, peering into the window, "It's just about to start !" I groan out loud. He turns to me, clasping his hands together in front of him, prayer-style. "Come on, baby, _pleeease_ ? I've been waiting my whole life for this !"

When I hesitate, he knows he's got me, and wastes no time in firmly grabbing my hand and yanking me pointedly along behind him, _'You are my wife/Goodbye city life'_ – style.

* * *

Inside, excited like a little kid, (which of course I find completely adorable even though I'm pretending to be mad at him), he buys an extra large popcorn and before I can stop him, soaks it in several long squirts of horrid fake "butter".

"Thanks, Tone, now I won't be able to have any."

"Hm ? You don't put butter on popcorn ?"

"My dad used to work at a theater, remember ? That isn't 'butter', the last thing it is is 'butter'. It comes out of an oil can for fuck's sake – it's 100% industrial strength oily, greasy, saturated _fat_, salted and tarted up."

"Uh huh," he says flatly. "Your point being ?"

"I don't eat that shit. I haven't spent the past five years toning my body to perfection in order to put fake, fatty chemical rubbish into it. "

"Watching your girly figure, are you ?"

"Fucking right," I pout.

He grins cheekily ..._"Why don't you leave that to me ?" … _tucks me under his arm, slides it round my waist … and it's instant bliss, this feeling, total warmth and gushiness, where our two bodies meet. Tony is seven inches taller than me, and in what I'll see as both happy metaphor and good omen, we do fit together perfectly.

* * *

"I'll buy some for you, then; won't put any butter on it, 'kay ?" he says, but I'm in such a romantic dither, I can't respond.

He looks at me quizzically.

"Is that okay, Max ?"

The word, when I can finally find breath to push it to my lips, is whisper-soft, fluttery, and weak.

"ya."

* * *

.

* * *

It's all very strange, this public affection business. Yesterday at this time, Maxxie and I were best mates. Ya, I was in love with him, but he didn't know it and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. I mean, how stupid would that have been ? I was determined to make it go away, to send it out on an ice floe, never to be heard from again.

Today ... _today, _however_ ..._ (_many_ dozen light years from yesterday) … I'm holding the bloody lad's hand, in full view of the world, _and loving it_. It feels fresh and rebellious and 'fuck you' and cool. Also warm, lovely and squishy-good.

* * *

I grab our popcorns and Maxxie buys us a drink to share and we turn for the theatre door. At the last second he spies some sort of freebie movie magazine and takes it in with him "as an insurance policy against inane, straightboy teen flicks".

"And _how_ many times have I sat through fucking Velvet Goldmine, again ? And seen Ewan McGregor's naked cock flopping round ? Like, sixty-two ?"

"Ewan McGregor's naked cock is the main reason I _own_ that film, Tone."

"No it's not. You're such a gayboy, you even own the _soundtrack_."

He smiles broadly.

"Thanks for the reminder. We're doing karaoke."

I groan out loud.

* * *

.

* * *

Inside is enormous, and given that it's mid-day on a gorgeous weekend day in a resort beach town, largely empty.

"Where ?" I ask.

"Here", he says – back row, center. "We want the full surround sound experience, of course."

I roll my eyes and plop down next to him.

* * *

I _do_ give the film a try, so as not to spoil Tony's excitement and intermittent bursts of spontaneous narration, but by the first half hour, find myself, during brightly lit scenes at least, sneaking peaks at my little magazine. When I look up at one point, however, on the screen is the first, and I would learn, _only_ appealing thing in it.

"Who's that ?" I ask.

"Hm ?"

"Tall thing. Glasses."

"Oh, that's Hank. He turns into Beast later on in the comic book."

"Beast ?"

"Ya, this big, blue, hairy ape."

"Splendid," I groan.

I observe the young actor. I can't help it; there is something oddly compelling about thick, black glasses and nerdy clothing.

"Kind of cute."

"Huh ?"

"I said he's cute."

"_Him ?"_

"Ya," I say, as the girl in the film approaches him seductively. "_She_ seems to think so."

"Ya. That's a blonde for ya."

I laugh. "Yes, we blondes are just …" I then for some reason ask a question, even though I don't want to know the answer:

"Do you think she's pretty ?"

He doesn't hesitate.

"Um, _ya_, Max," he says, eyes never leaving the screen. _"_Kind of obvious."

God, _why_ is it such an instant knife to the gut ?

"I mean that both ways, though," he continues. "She's hot, but she's a bit obvious/generic, y'know ? Like a Barbie. But," he shrugs, "still shagable. Definitely Old Tony's type."

Eager to swiftly move on from this topic, I cough out loud. "So ... where to, after this ?"

He scarfs down a handful of popcorn.

"Wherever ya want, Max."

He grasps my hand. I instantly jerk it away.

"Thanks Tone," I say, holding it in the air and patting around in the dark for a napkin. "Fucking covered in buttery goop."

"Sorry."

"_Napkin ?" _I snap, in annoyance.

"Sorry; didn't get one," he says absently. "Just use your shirt."

"I'm not about to use my _shirt_, Tony, I-"

"-Oh for fuck's sake; _here,_" he huffs, grabbing my wrist and messily pressing and dragging both sides of my hand down his front. "Don't be such a _poof_."

"Fuck off," I mutter, yanking my hand back and rubbing any remnants into the material of the adjacent seat.

My eyes return to the screen. Some silly, computer generated special effects are going off causing a room the size of an aircraft carrier to catch fire.

"How much longer do we have to endure this drivel ?"

He shrugs. "Dunno."

I return to my magazine, as best I can.

A few minutes along, he points to the screen. "So, this is interesting. You actually think that guy is hot ?"

I look. It's boy-scientist again.

"Um, well ya, in a way. Shy, and shit. Who's the actor ?"

"No clue. Some dweeb."

"I smell a straightboy."

Tony shrugs and downs a few more kernels.

"Whatever. His loss."

I turn, astonished.

"What ?"

Tony looks, shrugging, and answers simply, seemingly unaware of the magnitude of his words.

"I said it's his loss."

_His loss._

I push back deep into the seat cushion in order to keep from raising clenched fists, screaming out in a riotous giggle and flinging myself round the room, and allow the cooling, soothing serum to flow through my veins. The serum of truth and righteousness, of triumph, of wildly, hopelessly impossible victories. Wow. Seriously. Again: WOW. Who knew the power, the beauty, the clear-the-boards clarity of two little otherwise wholly insignificant words.

Tony's sitting next to me, oblivious, following along with the inanities on the screen. He has no idea. A part of me wants to make a bloody scene. Stand up and scream it to the rafters, to in fact walk down and stand in front of the bloody screen jumping and shouting just how amazing Tony Stonem is … however when I picture it, I see even Tony standing up and waving angrily at me to_ get the fuck out of the way … _and so I remain seated.

There is no harm in a private, solitary celebration, I tell myself, at least until later, and so I simply reach for and take his hand in mine; buttery, salty, popcorn fingers and all.

* * *

As I do, he looks down, groans, and before I can stop him, returns my hand to his chest to wipe off the goop, after which, this time, however, he takes and turns my palm towards his face to lick off the remnants.

And that's it. Tony, in two parts: a boy's eyes glued to the flickering screen, whilst a grown up tongue, warm and pink and muscley, slithers out impatiently to clean me up … and in that instant, the blood in my body hurriedly redistributes itself to a certain central spot.

* * *

Quickly I'm up, like a cat, back arched and kneeling sideways in the seat to kiss him as he yelps in surprise and the popcorn goes flying and he's trying to laugh, trying to push me away.

"Maxxie, fuck's sake, what are you _doing_ ? !" he hisses, nervously looking round us as I feel him up through his jeans.

"_Shut up," _I tell him, and pull his face towards mine.

"_Max !" _he whispers as I go for his belt.

"Told you five times; only been _four_."

"_But ! Are you nuts ? You can't- ! !" _

_"Shhhh,"_ I whisper, pulling his belt free, yanking on his zipper, and slithering to the floor at his feet.

* * *

And there it is before you, the sacred and the profane … and there's sort of nothing like that moment of surrender, is there, in the entire world, when the look of panic and fear and disbelief gives way to grudging acceptance … and then not so grudging … and between nervous glances in all directions, and still somehow, several at the screen, there is finally that moment when his eyes meet yours and there's an instant spike in your arousal at the knowledge of _just what exactly he's watching you do_, just what exactly you're _doing_, here on the grubby movie theatre floor ... and at the same time, you're not here, either of you; you're in that perfect bubble that you both seem to exist in, protected from the world, exempt from it's rules ... and he's soothing your scalp, threading his fingers though the mess of your 32-minute hair, sympathetic with your plight, with the mess that you've gotten the two of you into and the war raging inside you between _hurry_ and _don't_ ... but in his face you can see that he knows it's your fault and he's not about to let you off the hook, not gonna let you get away with _not_ finishing what you shouldn't have started to begin with ... had you not been such a filthy, animalistic little slut.

And his cock is dissolving, disappearing in your mouth like slow melting butter, tip poking you gently in the throat ... and quickly it's serious and you're readying your hand to cover his mouth and he's instead, because he seems to have developed a thing for it, taking and licking at your fingers, pulling them, one by one, past his lips ... and then you can't help it, it's _so insanely hot_, all of it, that you're shoving your whole hand inside, a new twist on 'fisting', never done this with anyone before, nor wanted to ... and in that instant, he erupts, coming in a gurgling rush of near-silent, sticky gouts, and you cough in surprise – you think you know his come by now, the texture, the mineral content, but this is different; thicker, saltier, and you ponder momentarily the popcorn butter, and then without warning he's pulling you up because the credits are rolling and the lights are coming on and you crawl off your knees and onto the seat beside him as if you'd never left it, the two of you panting away, looking round for signs of trouble but there aren't any, and his shirt's sticking to him, and you spy his fingers, white-knuckle intertwined with yours and in your mind of course it's a perfect metaphor; enmeshment, entanglement, the faultless, elegant dovetail found only in nature.

* * *

_Author's Note: _

_Okay, for anyone who doesn't know this, I purposely, winkingly chose to have the boys see X-Men because Nicholas Hoult himself is in it, as a dweeby (but imo still beautiful) young scientist, Hank McCoy aka Beast. Personally, I'm with Maxxie here in that I think the film is total crap, and I also find thick black nerdy glasses inexplicably hot. (And, I don't think there is, BUT if there's possibly anyone reading this who hasn't actually seen Skins, Nicholas Hoult plays Tony in the series. So what I have here is 'Tony' going to see a movie starring the guy who plays him.) (Also, the 'blonde' referred to in the film is played by Jennifer Lawrence, who just happens to be Hoult's real-life girlfriend, at present)._

_And, for anyone who finds this stuff interesting, this chapter almost involved a let-the-reader-choose ending. I'd first written the boys inside the theater being very good, ie zero sex. It was to end where Maxxie takes Tony's hand and says "and so I simply reach for and take his hand in mine; buttery, salty, popcorn fingers and all." Then came the notion of a bit of naughtiness, but because movie-house smut is so damned cliche, I'd ruled it out ... then ruled it back in again, deciding it if I could write a decent enough scene - if it seemed generally up to snuff and not too horrid, I'd maybe give the smut a chance. Ultimately, I found I couldn't decide between the two endings, so I was going to write in both endings separately and let the reader choose the one they wanted ... then finally said screw it, and found a way to mesh the two._

**If you have a moment, I'd sincerely love to know your thoughts. Would one have worked better than the other, or do they work okay the way it's written, blended together ? **


	24. Hazy, Blind, Forgetting

It's like this: The sky splits, and the earth readies itself and his mouth is like velvet quicksand; there's no hope, and even though he's speeding up, metaphysically, you're slowing down, right down, to the point where every single possible detail of every single thing around you comes sharply into focus exactly at the moment where none of it does, because you slip into that trippy headspace called_ blinding white-out_ where it's just you and random matter particles floating in the ether ... so we're talking science, here, physics, and then topography, because he's _got you mapped_ – he's memorized the terrain, and inside you there's this complex, intricate circuit board which measures everything in electronic tremor-pulses, and as he keeps at you, _deliberately_ _prodding the fault line,_ it starts zigzagging back and forth like a needle on a richter scale until the ground finally gives way and the earth cracks open and …

You wake up and you're in a fucking _movie house. _

* * *

I look at him in disbelief, still trying to catch my breath.

"You are," I pant, "an absolute nutter."

He laughs. He stands and reaches out a hand towards me.

"Yes. Completely."

He seems tickled, positively giddy at what he's just done; with nary a stitch of worry or fear that we might possibly _not_ have gotten away with it. I look round, half expecting the cops to barge in, or management to grab us by the shoulders and throw us out on our arses ... but there is only the teenaged uniformed theatre attendant going round with a broom and rubbish bin.

"Come _on_, Tone. Let's get cracking," he says, grinning away like a million watt bulb and impatiently grabbing my hand.

"Seriously, though," I ask, as he leads me slowly, wearily along the row of seats. "Are you _completely_ off your head ?"

"Yes," he nods emphatically. "Quite so, when it comes to you."

"But Max-"

He stops dead and looks at me.

"-Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't believe I'm hearing a _single_ thing about just exactly how fucking _amazing_ that was, or how _good_ it felt …?"

At this point the attendant approaches and glares unhappily at the popcorn-covered floor and seats we've just vacated.

I point.

"His fault."

"So, tell me something," Max says, addressing the kid. "Did you see anything ? Notice anything odd during the film ?" He points. "Cuz he's paranoid."

"_Huh ?"_ Is all the pimply boy offers.

Max yanks on my hand and begins moving again.

"Never mind."

I stop suddenly and gesture towards the screen, remembering why we're here.

"_Fuck_." I whine. "Missed the bloody _ending_. What happened ?"

He turns to me.

"Don't know, Tony," he harrumphs. "I believe I was facing away at the time."

In that instant, looking into the disappointed-hurt-pouty face I've caused, I crumble. Just what kind of a world class arsehole can I be ?

"Yes. You were," I grin, pulling him closer. "I believe in fact that you were blowing me."

"_Shhh !"_ he says, head jerking and eyes darting toward the boy who has moved off down another row.

"What," I say, turning his face back towards me, "_now_ you're gonna be shy about it ? Too late," I offer, and bring my lips to his before pulling away, just. "It was fucking _epic_, Max," I whisper, caressing his cheek with my thumb. "Trust me. Fucking completely crazy, out of here _epic_. Best ever." To which he responds with the sweetest, rosy-cheeked, gushing grin, so adorable that it just _has_ to be kissed away.

During which, I feel it. The increasingly familiar sense of blissed-out _love_ … one really could float away on such a feeling, never to return … but then there is also guilt that I would ever dare take such a creature for granted, or disappoint him, or bitch about missing a scene in a bloody _movie_, when here he wants only to immerse you in his own version of industrial light and magic.

* * *

At some point we pull back, murmuring and nuzzling away, and then, when we finally begin moving to leave, there is the kid, wide eyed, open-mouthed, gawking.

"Good looking lad, huh ?" I crack, gesturing with my head. "Sorry. _Mine_."

* * *

In the theatre loo we wash our hands at adjacent sinks, eying and grinning knowingly in the mirror, each thinking the same thing: the blokes milling about us have no clue what we've just gotten up to.

"Should we tell them ?" I ask his reflection in the mirror.

He laughs softly and turns to dry his hands, and as I look at the back of his head, I'm struck by the energy between us, and wonder if others can feel it … the buzzed, low level arousal which always seems to be present, but which by all rights should surely have ebbed, immediately following orgasm, correct ? And yet, here we are, or at least, here_ I_ am ...

Which makes sense. It's Pavlovian, in that I can't help, I suppose, but associate the person who has awakened me sexually, who has brought me willfully and repeatedly over the screaming edge, with orgasm itself.

* * *

As I'm pondering this, trying to ignore the vivid, full colour flashbacks of him out in the theatre, just now, on his knees, I turn the faucet all the way on _cold_ and begin splashing my face in an effort to distract, to turn everything _off_, because really, it's ridiculous, I mean, I'm at risk of addiction, here. I _can't_ be like this all the time; we _can't_ do it twenty four hours a day, and here is Maxxie behind me, all fine and normal and geared up to go shop and sightsee and swim …

And then ... I mean, it could be because the loo is small and a bit busy at the moment due to another film having let out ... but as he finishes with the hand dryer and moves by on his way to the stall, he brushes against me ... and in that instant the voltage spikes, just ratchets upward, with body temperature following suit … which is just so _crazy_. Because. _How_ he can do this ? Turn me to jelly; pull me round by a leash without even meaning to and I'll go _anywhere_, no matter that I've just come. My body does not care. Irrelevant. It simply sees Maxxie, and it _wants_.

So I turn, helpless, in his direction, like a starving man, and watch as he shuts the stall door behind him, and as the patrons move round me pissing into urinals and washing hands and clinking their car keys, I'm standing, stock still, riveted to the floor, everything whizzing by in a blur as I focus, transfixed by this one thing: the pin in the little metal door latch, which, I notice, he has yet to engage, and suddenly it's a message that I'm clinging to with my life, suddenly it's absolutely everything in the world, and also, as the miserable anxiety-ball in my gut tells me, a symbol of just how very weak he makes me, sick with need, standing here watching and waiting like a pathetic, low-life perv, a drooling man at a playground, and just as I successfully make myself turn away – jerking my head to the side and moving towards the sink in a last ditch attempt at some semblance of dignity ... I hear it.

"Tone ?"

I jump slightly in place, nervously turn on and off the faucet, wipe my hands on my trousers, cough, clear my throat, trying to sound normal.

"Ya ?"

I wait. Nothing. I wait more.

Nothing.

"Ya, Max ?"

What, am I hallucinating now ? Imagining I've heard his voice when I haven't ?

"Um," he says.

I tentatively approach the door.

"What is it ?"

Nothing.

I lay a hand against it, a bit worried. Is something wrong ?

"What's up, Max ? Y'alright ?"

When he doesn't answer, I press with my fingertips, opening it just a hair ... and in a flash, he's pulled me inside and shut and locked it behind us.

"Are we alone ?" he whispers, all flustered.

"Huh ?" I whisper back, not getting it. "Ya. Last bloke just left. Why ?"

The corners of his mouth turn slowly up.

"Can't help it. It won't go away." He takes a big breath. "I'm horny as fuck."

I pause a moment, searching his eyes, trying not to burst out in mad, rapturous jubilation, trying not to let on that my cock has just absolutely solidified.

"Okay," I say flatly. "So … back to the hotel, then ?"

He hesitates, eyes twinkling with equal parts shyness and mischief.

"_No."_

Christ, I think, staring back at him and taking a quick, disbelieving glance round the stall, hoping that when my face returns to his, that his expression will show he's bloody well kidding … but no, there it is, determination, or at least, intrigue, coupled still with the remnants of a small, embarrassed smile, which I recognize as _the way out _– I'm really turned on, it says, but I'm not about to force the issue; I know this is insane and risky and horridly cliche, even ... but that's exactly why we should do it, exactly what makes it so fucking tantalizing … however if you shake your head no, (it continues), ... I'll listen.

I mean, okay, ya, a minute ago I was dreaming of this, my expression tells him, positively transfixed by the very notion, in fact ... and now you're handing it to me on a platter … but it's fucking so _out there,_ and ya, gay encounters in mens' rooms are so bloody cheezy… but … _fuck_ … It really is wickedly exciting, as well as slightly terrifying ... not to mention, it turns out, sorta dangerous, being your boyfriend.

* * *

He half shrugs – his second attempt to let me get away, if I want to.

"It's just that … doing that to you, it makes me-"

"-Doing _what_ to me ?" I hear myself say in a far off voice, settling the matter right here.

He takes a step forward.

"Sucking you off."

My cock twitches in my trousers.

I gulp. I say it.

"In public."

He nods, takes another step, and reaches for my hand. "In public."

From here on, I slip into a certain _state_, hazy, blind, forgetting where we are, letting my cock do the talking.

"Like a filthy little slut ?"

"_Yes_," he says immediately, steamy eyed, lids blinking slow, moving close and pressing my fingers toward his zipper. "Definitely," he says with assurance, like he's waited all his life to hear it. "Wanna see ?"

* * *

And quickly I'm spun round to sit on the toilet, Maxxie straddling my lap and instructing me to lift his legs at the knees should anyone move into the next stall, and I'm not really hearing it because we're inside each other's mouthes, hands tangled in the other's hair, and Maxxie's rocking in place, lewdly grinding his hips and pleading in breathy tones and making me completely fucking crazy.

"Call me a slut."

Which, when I don't do it quick enough …

"_Call me a slut." _

"_No", _I snap, in mock disgust. "Fucking _slut_."

Which makes his voice shoot up an octave as he gasps and pants and grinds harder and reaches between us.

"_More. Tell me more."_

At another time I will find the humour in the ironic discovery that good shepherd, sweet-faced, earnest little Maxxie is seriously into smut talk – something he's never admitted, or perhaps, I think, liking this idea very much: it's a first for him, too.

"Take your cock out," I instruct him. "Show me what a sleazy little cocksucking _whore_ you are."

He shrieks in excitement, practically bouncing up and down in my lap.

"But I want _yours_," he pleads, looking down.

"Yes. Take them both out. You made me hard by how slutty you are."

He's practically squealing in delight as he pulls them both free, eyes swelling up like balloons.

"You _are_," he says, the picture of bliss. "You're harder than _me_. _I turn you on; I totally turn you on."_ And without further adieu he grabs a hunk of hair at the top of my head and proceeds to wrench me forward by it, toward his mouth whilst his free hand jerks and twists and strokes below, and I've meanwhile got a hand on each hip, guiding him in his increasingly furious grindings, and it strikes me that each time we have sex I stupidly think it can't get better …

And then someone's opened the main loo door and Maxxie instinctively flings his knees up into the air, to keep it from being detected that there are _two_ sets of feet in this stall, and we freeze solid and hold our breath and wait for the sound of the flush and then almost immediately another bloke wanders in, taking his time, pissing, whistling and fiddling with his hair in the mirror and I want to _scream_: _"WILL you HURRY the fuck UP ? !" _Because it's slight agony, both the terror of being detected (and the knowledge that these people could very well be employees, or security, or management), and the sheer discomfort at sudden, extreme stoppage when you were absolutely well on your way.

And our eyes meet in this moment, anxious, stressed, fearful ... but then it turns. We examine the other's face and for me at least, there is such beauty there, such sincerity and joy and _love_ being reflected back that it just about kills me. I _forget_ for a moment what we're doing, where we are and why, and we exchange the most extraordinary grin, like we're lying outside in the sun on a blanket of daisies, the deepest and closest of friends who've fallen completely head over heels to the point where we're doing mad, ill advised things ... to anyone looking on, but to us, it's simple. We're in love. We feel a passion beyond anything we've ever known or could have imagined, the type that makes you go any _where_ and do any _thing_ for your 'other', for the person who is _IT,_ to you, the one you intend to embed yourself with, to wrap your whole life around.

* * *

And then we're alone again, kissing and grinding slow, each tenderly caressing the other when what the situation calls for is mad and furious, and yet we can't help ourselves. It's not, we've decided, a thing we want to rush.

But before long, Maxxie pulls back, eyes closed, panting into my hair and gripping my shoulders.

"Sorry. I gotta ... I gotta come."

Sorry ?

Ah, a perfect Maxxie-ism. He had wanted to bring me off first.

"I want you to," I whisper, as he tilts his head away so that I have a perfect view. "Please. _Come for me, baby. Come for me."_

* * *

And what I then witness is something almost spiritual. He's holding his breath, eyes tense, nails digging deep, teeth clenching his bottom lip which is as flushed as the rest of him, his face holds … holds ... and then as his body erupts, _bursts_ wide open, trembling with several small, gorgeous, fluttering anguished exhalations … and I'm left quite extremely in awe, to have witnessed, at close range, something so intensely private, so unspeakably beautiful.


	25. Damn Good Hands

After Tony comes all over my shirt, the same one I hadn't wanted soiled with popcorn butter … he's incapable of keeping from giggling.

"Oops," he laughs.

"Wanker", I whine.

* * *

Out in the loo proper, we each pull off our shirts, as it turns out both were stained, run the bits under a warm tap, squeeze them out, and then hold them under adjacent hand dryers. We're kissy and giggling and chatting away like this is some normal, everyday scene ... when we're walked in on by the same pimply theatre attendant-boy.

How very questionable it must look. Two topless lads, each holding a shirt under a hand dryer… ? What the … ?

"Hi," I blurt stupidly, blushing like an arse, but the kid is rooted to the floor, dumbly staring, hand holding the door open, deciding if he maybe doesn't want to enter the loo after all.

"Not afraid of a coupla _poofs_, are ya ?" Tony cracks, adding a cheerful wink, and the kid promptly exits.

Tony bursts out laughing.

"You shit."

"Come on, it worked, didn't it ? We got the place to ourselves, again," he says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss, "I like being alone with you."

I laugh.

"Yes, it does have it's benefits, but, that'll be our last bit of loneliness for a while, which, really, is quite a good thing."

"Right," he smirks. "Only thing that'll stop us screwing."

* * *

Outside, we meander over to the dance supply shop, inside which Tony almost immediately attempts to try on a frilly pink tutu, managing to pull it part way up one leg before being stopped and scolded by the clerk.

"I was trying it out for my little _sister_," he lies. As if Effy of _all_ people in this world, would dare be caught dead.

"Well, is she six ?" Snorts the clerk. "Because that's the largest size we carry."

"Okay, okay," he grins obnoxiously, "it's for _me_. I have this uncontrollable need these days for pretty, girly things-"

And with that, I shove him bodily down the aisle and out the door before returning to make red-faced apologies and a hasty purchase of a set of fiercely overpriced, but from what I'm told, apparently magical set of dance shoes, said to vastly lighten one's feet and improve one's 'glide'.

* * *

"Arsehole," I tell him outside. "Wanker. You _love_ making ridiculous scenes."

He thinks a moment.

"Perhaps I'm meant to be an actor. A _performer_._"_ He grins. "_Meant_ for the stage."

"No," I tell him, shaking my head and reaching for his hand as we walk on. "The only thing you're _meant_ for is fucking _juvenile_ _hall_."

He turns his face and brings it close to mine, eyes twinkling away.

"_I'm_ not the one who _twice_ initiated public sex, you know. _That_'ll get us thrown in jail more than trying on pink tutus."

"Yes, but that's entirely your fault."

"What ? The tutus, or the sex ?

"_Both."_

He laughs.

"Okay, but how is the sex my fault ? In both instances, I was the innocent party, the _virgin_, being mauled by a sex maniac."

"Yes, but that's only because of how bloody _hot_ you are. _So_ bloody, goddamn hot I can't see straight. Can't keep my libido in line."

"Right," he snorts.

"And by the way, I will tell you right now, nothing shrinks my willy faster than cross dressing."

He laughs out loud.

"Okay, so, you mean, no pink tutus or bras or girly knickers in the bedroom, then ? But that's half my suitcase ! I was planning on wearing it to bed tonite !"

"No," I tell him, squeezing his hand, "what you're wearing to bed tonite is a sexy little number called _absolutely_ _nothing_."

* * *

Next, we hit the 'weird gay shop', as Tony referred to it, actually called _Gaydar_, which features all manner of gay-themed gifts, books and magazines (both 'normal' and porn), DVDs (ditto), jokey greeting cards, romantic greeting cards, pro gay political bumper stickers and buttons, (my favorite being the non?political "I LOVE BOYS"), as well as phallic and testicular shaped lolipops, cakes, and candies, and then, in the semi-hidden rear portion of the store, an assortment of brightly coloured dildos, remote controlled vibrators, faux fur handcuffs, as well as a rather frightening selection of whips, straps, paddles, canes, leather goods, and general sadomasochistic paraphernalia.

"What the fuck is all _that_ for ?" Tony asks, aghast.

It _is_ a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable for some reason, just being around this shit, but even moreso to think that Tony might be getting the idea that only queers are into such freakish perversions, but before I can disabuse him of this notion (having once encountered these same sort of items in a decidedly 'straight' joke/gift shop) ... a rather tall, very hot, blonde, 20-something store clerk appears.

"It's for deeper sexuality," the bloke says in quiet tones, smiling knowingly. "When you've moved on from _vanilla_, and need a little _chocolate_."

Tony reflects on this a moment.

"Oh … so like ..."

"_Ya,"_ nods the clerk, who much to my annoyance – I mean, _christ ! _- is openly, brazenly giving him the once over.

"Okay," Tony laughs nervously, not noticing. "Wow."

I glare with the evilest possible eye – _does he not see me holding Tony's hand ? ?_ And move to pull us back into the main store. "Come on, Tone."

"No, wait," he says, looking at me quickly, before addressing the clerk. "I mean … what about, like, y'know ... in between … chocolate _swirl, _or whatever... ?"

To which the guy laughs.

"Chocolate swirl, okay," he says, all confident and superior and annoying, reaching promptly for the handcuffs. "_This_," he tells him, "swirly; delicious," … and with a wink in my direction, promptly leaves.

"Fucking _slutty_ little know-it-all _cunt_," I mutter under my breath, watching him walk away. "Thinks he can _cruise you right in front of me_ ! ? Probably blows half the customers to get sales …" I go on for another few vitriolic sentences before I notice Tony is taking no notice at all, is instead, preoccupied, transfixed by this _thing_ in his hand ... turning it over, examining it, eyes semi-glazed.

"You know what ?" He finally manages to say. "I can see the possibilities."

I sigh. Yes of _course_ the thought of a little kink-action is positively wicked … I just frankly don't want it done at the behest of, I don't want to _encourage_ some cruise-y, part time sales clerk, or perhaps _owner, _by going ahead and buying anything from him.

I turn over the price tag.

"Forty five pounds ! ?" I shriek. "_No_," I say firmly, placing the item back on the rack and pulling Tony, who protests and reaches and points back behind us, through the store.

"Wait ! But _Max_ ..."

We stop just outside the store's door.

"Firstly, the _last_ way you're gonna get me on this is by calling me 'Max', understand ?"

"But ..."

"But _what_ ?" I ask, crossing my arms, tapping my toe.

"But _baby_-"

"-_Excellent_. That is the correct term when one wants one's way, however in this case, as it happens, I'm afraid there is no way we're patronizing this establishment-"

"-But !" he says, pointing towards the door.

"What, some hot blonde pushing a set of wildly overpriced handcuffs has reduced you to monosyllables ?"

"Huh ? _What_ hot blonde ?"

I stop. I smile huge.

"Never mind."

"But, Max-"

"_Who_ ? ?" I say, holding my hand behind my ear in exaggerated fashion and leaning towards him.

He stops. He sighs.

"Come on, baby. It's my money. And what if I wanna try 'em ? It could be really hot."

"It _is_," I say, tickled at the change in his expression, from pouty/pleading, to confusion, to eye-widening shock.

"You've done that before ? ! Tied somebody up ? ?" He shrieks, so that I have to shush him and pull him further down the sidewalk. _"How come you never told me ? !"_

"Because ! I was embarrassed. It was a long time ago, and it only happened once, and we didn't use handcuffs. We … improvised."

"Improvised ?"

"We used like, two tied together gym socks, or something. Or," I reflect, "wait, no, it was his mother's panty hose."

"What ? !" he shouts, "Panty hose ? ! I thought you weren't into cross-dressing !"

I look quickly side to side.

"Will you _shut up_, please ? It _wasn't_ cross-dressing, arsehole ! It was just using whatever was around that _worked_. We were in his parents bedroom, for fuck's sake, and he went rifling through drawers and that's what he came up with." I smile, and also flush at the memory. "It certainly worked."

"Okay !" He says, practically shouting, and pulling on my arm. "Nuff said ! Back to the hotel, then ! Perversion number two !"

"Tone," I say, laughing, stopping dead, "come on. We can try out shit _later_ – whatever you want. We got _shit_ to do. Seriously."

"_What_ shit ? You got your ballet slippers-"

"They're _not_ fucking ballet slippers !"

"Whatever !"

"Trinkets, Tone ! Royal Pavillion ! The casting place ! More rides. Postcards. Dinner. _Beach_." I move close, and whisper. "It really _will_ be better if we wait." I kiss him quickly. "_Promise_."

His face softens.

"Fucking prick tease."

I smile.

"Come on, now. Be fair. I've done nothing to tease your prick just now."

He grins. He moves close. He whispers.

"You're such a hot piece of sexy fucking _arse_, such a filthy, sexy cocksucking little _slut_, you don't have to, do you ?"

As if he's deliberately plucked a string on a cello, my ears sort of twang-out on me at the sound of this, to the point where, as he continues, _("I can't fucking wait to fuck your dirty little slut of a whore-hole,") ..._ I actually back away, cover my ears, hum a random tune out loud, and shake my head side to side.

"No ! !" I tell him, laughing. "Stop it ! Not fair !"

He grins. He leans in and kisses me.

"I know. Fun as fuck, though."

* * *

Next up on the weekend agenda is Tony's rather odd choice, a place called Brighton Body Casting because he for some reason is intrigued by the idea of having his hands done, or perhaps his face, ("when one is as dead bloody handsome as _me_, one might as well immortalize it,") but inside, seeing as the main feature at the moment is an exhibit called the "Great Wall of Vaginas", Tony decides that what should be plastered instead, is my arse.

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious. Or maybe, my dick up your arse – they have home plaster kits, you know."

"Right," I snort, as we peruse the enormous, frighteningly detailed collection of female genitalia, which stretches on, at eye level, for at least ten metres. All of which is making this gayboy semi-nauseous. _(People actually put their faces in there ? ?)_

Suddenly it strikes me – does Tony find any of this arousing, or at least, familiar ?

"What do you think ?"

"Of what ?"

"All this pussy, tosser."

He shakes his head slowly.

"Fucking awful."

My head snaps.

"Awful ? In what way ?"

"Come on, Max. It's so fucking … _clinical, _being displayed on a wall like this. People's privates. I can't believe all these women agreed to this. If it was supposed to be appealing, or erotic or something, it's fucking well _not_."

I pick up a pamphlet about the display. "It says it's supposed to help them with their self esteem. 'An exploration of women's relationships with their genitals.'"

"Rubbish", he snorts.

"So … you feel absolutely no tuggings, no urge to maybe plunge yourself in there ?"

"_Fuck_, no."

I flush with the warmth that floods me, and lean up to kiss him.

"Good."

* * *

Outside, after having decided against getting any casting done, after all, due to the high cost and extensive wait time, we take a quick visit to the Royal Pavillion, which it turns out is closed on Sundays, then turn round to head back for some thrill-rides and trinkets/postcards, etc., when to my abject horror, heading straight for us, strolling happily along, hand in hand as they move up the sidewalk … are Sid and Michelle.

* * *

My god. My god. _How could it be ?_ What kind of sick cunt _is_ fate to have seen to it that something this twisted would have to occur ? That the two people Tony cared about most in the world, outside his family, each of whom cruelly abandoned him when disaster struck, and then had the unmitigated gall to couple up shortly thereafter, just _had_ to choose this exact same weekend to visit Brighton, exact same sidewalk, exact same time ?

I yank on Tony's hand, determined to save him from this painful encounter, and jerk him towards the nearest store front and _almost_ have him inside – I'm in fact, standing behind shoving him into the shop with both hands when he comes to a sudden screeching halt, head snapped to the side, mouth agape, from which there comes a singular breathless word: _"fuck." _

* * *

Suddenly he's moving towards them, and my gut plunges into my toes. Why god ? Why ? ? This is gonna be _so_ ugly. And there's not a single thing I can do to bloody stop it.

"Well, well, what a surprise !" Tony says, smiling too hard, with too much of a spring in his step.

"Tony," Sid says, clearly taken aback. "Wow."

"Ya, _'wow'_. You sound like that girl you used to fancy. What was her name ? Cassie ?"

Michelle fidgets – she seems incredibly uncomfortable and unnerved, barely managing to keep herself from moving round him on the sidewalk.

"You're looking well," is all she can muster.

"I _am_ well," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well-er than I've ever been, as it happens. Pretty much recovered from a teensy little accident I had. Almost died. You may have heard."

She gestures.

"Christ, don't do this okay ?"

"Do what ?"

"Don't play the bloody _guilt_ card, pretending we weren't both there, in the hospital, for weeks afterwards."

Dear god, I think, please keep me from strangling her.

"Oh, no," he cries, "of _course_ you were ! Nobody disputes that ! Stuck around plenty for what everyone agrees was the _easy_ part. But you missed out on all the good stuff _afterwards_ – the really _fun_ stuff – just ask Maxxie, here - stumbling round unable to walk; babbling like a two year old for months on end, shitting trousers." He shrugs. "The small stuff."

Sid raises his voice.

"-Look, Tony, I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here-"

"_-What I'm trying to accomplish ? ?" _He shouts suddenly, causing me to jump slightly in place._ "_How about calling out the two people who were supposedly_ close _to me, who supposedly _loved_ me, _but chose to run out the fucking door as soon as they bloody well could-"_

Michelle snaps.

"-There was no 'supposedly' about it, tosser ! We loved you so much, it was _unbearable_, seeing you like that ! You have no idea ! And even if we weren't there in person, we followed your progress the whole way ! We still love you ! We still care about you !"

My blood is all but boiling that she would dare say such things ... such obvious lies … that I want to mangle them both, skin them both alive right here on the sidewalk for their inexcusable abandonment, but I'm determined to stand back and let Tony have his (very) long overdue say.

"Ya ?" He says, somehow maintaining his composure. "Is that so ? When is the last time I heard from you, from either of you, again ? Remind me."

The two fidget uncomfortably, having no rebuttal.

Tony takes a step back, so that's he's next to me. He inhales deeply … and there, plain as fucking day, grabs my hand.

_Holy shit. _I gulp, resisting the sudden urge to drop it, to protect him, and follow their line of sight as it lands on our joined hands.

He speaks. Calmly, for the first time.

"You have no idea what love is." He gestures with his head. "Maxxie does. In fact," he smiles, "we, _he and I_, are in love. For real." He laughs gently. "Like, madly."

Oh. My. God. My head is gonna implode from the tension. I may, in fact, vomit. I _so_ hadn't wanted the announcement to happen like this – a hellish, challenging, in-your-face public confrontation. We stand there like stones, the air between us thick as can possibly be, before Michelle manages a dismissive smirk.

"Don't be an arsehole."

"You think I'm kidding ?" He turns to me, smiling with delight. "She thinks I'm kidding." He points. "They both do. Guess what ?" He says, eyes turned towards them as he raises his hands to my face .._. "I'm not." _… Before jerking my head upright, shit, my whole body, so much that my arms fly back behind me, for a kiss unlike any I've ever experienced – masterful, full throated, wet-lipped, moan-inducing, _crazy_, to the point where, when I'm he finally released, I'm swaying slightly on my feet.

To my horror, the faces we are then met with, are each trained directly on _me_. In them is hostility, disbelief, outrage, but mainly, out and out disgust, _revulsion_, even, as if I've been caught with a hard drive full of kiddie-porn, or fucking a goat, or _both_… in other words, all of the things I dreaded I'd see in people's faces. It just came a little earlier than I'd been prepared for ...

"_Maxxie,"_ Michelle says, practically shuddering. _"I mean, what the fuck."_

"_Not _Maxxie's doing," Tony snaps. "Don't you _dare _fucking blame him. This," he says, thrusting our joined hands towards them, "is all _me_. _I_ wanted it."

"Rubbish," Sid snaps.

"Ya, Sid ? You gonna tell me how I feel ?"

"Tony, I've fucking known you since you were _three_. You've _never_ had a single gay moment in your _life !_"

"That was _before_ !" He roars. "Old Tony diddled every bloody girl in town, and you know what ? He was _miserable_ ! That's what a near-death experiences does to ya, Sid ! Flips you upside down and shows you the _truth_ !"

"Which is _what_ ?" Sid shouts. "That you're somehow gay, now ? !" He points. "Just cuz _he_ wants you to be ? !"

And with that, plain as day Tony decks him – a hard right to the jaw, causing Sid to stumble backwards and almost fall. Then it's to Michelle to leap to Sid's side, shouting and calling Tony a _'fucking animal'_ and then getting in his face and hitting and pushing him, so then _I_ get into it, pushing her back, shouting and standing between the two until Sid finally screams at the top of his lungs to _fucking stop it._

Chelle steps back, and silently takes Sid's hand.

Tony takes mine.

The four of us stand there for long, heart-attack level stress-filled moments, before Tony speaks.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry, Sid, but frankly, you deserved it. I'm not about to let you, or anybody else fucking question Maxxie's integrity, got it ?" He lifts our hands slightly. "This kid here pretty much saved my life. Nursed me back to health, never once let me quit. Aside from being the sweetest, most honest person on the planet, and the like, finest human being I've ever met, not to mention," he grins, he laughs, "the greatest fuck."

Oh god. A part of me wants to crawl into a hole over newly hardened, thoroughly disgusted eyes that have fallen on me.

Tony's hand tenses in mine. Before he can leap at them again – I can feel that he's just about to - the other part of me – the loving, angry, and proud part – speaks.

"You know what ? It doesn't fucking actually matter what you guys think. Only thing that matters is what _we_ think; what _we_ feel," I say, giving his hand a good squeeze. "Tony woke up, and at some point after, we fell in love; simple as that. There's no _way_ I could have made that happen against his will. It's unbelievably insulting and sickening to me that you would think otherwise. Besides, are you nuts ? Look at him ! He's still the same ornery, obnoxious, opinionated bastard he always was ! Except, he's with me, now. So, you know what ? Beyond that, seeing as you both took yourselves out of the picture a long time ago, it's frankly none of your business."

The air is still thick between us but seems somewhat to have settled, as each side ponders the other.

Then something incredible happens. Michelle speaks, and I'm fully expecting her to be defensive, flippant, challenging, and she seems even to want to be, but instead, all that comes out is warmth.

"Do your parents know ?"

"No," I answer.

"Either of yours ?"

"No," Tony confirms. "But they're just about to. This is brand new. All came down this weekend."

"Oh," she says. "Wow."

"You guys are the first to hear it," I tell her.

Tony turns to Sid, who is rubbing his jaw.

"Sorry, mate."

"'S'okay," he says, "I was … I was out of line." He looks at me. "Sorry, Max. It's just – you have to understand. This is a pretty fucking huge. And despite how it may look, I still care about Tony, still worry about him, so I get a bit defensive."

Chelle clenches Sid's hand.

"We both do," she says.

Wow. I can't know how Tony's feeling, but the extreme tension, the anger and feelings of betrayal over the whole last year, seem to be dissipating.

"Well don't," Tony says sweetly. "I'm in _damn_ good hands."

* * *

_PS 1: There actually is a place in Brighton (UK) called Brighton Body Casting, which actually has an exhibit entitled "The Great Wall of Vaginas", featuring cast after cast of female genitalia (more specifically, the vulva, not the vagina, but then "The Great Wall of Vulvas" wouldn't exactly work.)_

_PS 2: The author had great fun trying to come up with filthy things Tony would say to Maxxie with the intent of curling his ears, my favorite this time being: "__I can't fucking wait to fuck your dirty little slut of a whore-hole." That just fucking makes me laugh out loud._

___PS 3: I had no idea when I began this chapter that the Sid/Michelle encounter would end sort of peacefully and maybe with a hint of forgiveness. That was not at all in the cards, but I sort of like it. _


	26. You Fall In Love With The Person

It's all so fucking bizarre. Here before us, out of the clear fucking blue and with zero prep time, are Sid and Michelle, two people who have grown in stature in my head over the last year, and not in a good way.

But ... it's a funny thing about life. Maybe it's maturity (not something I'm often accused of), or making peace with things, or feeling more at home with myself given all that's happened, particularly this weekend, but as it turns out, it's pretty bloody hard to demonize people who're standing right in front of you, looking you dead in the eye ... and what Michelle ultimately ends up telling us in fact makes it impossible.

* * *

"Effy knows."

"Huh ?" I ask her, not getting it at first.

"Or at least suspects," she says, pointing to Maxxie and I, "_you two, _I mean."

I stand there for a beat, in stunned silence, before speaking.

"What are you talking about ? She couldn't. This all came down this _weekend_."

"She told me, Tone," she says, spoken with finality and assuredness, that in truth, is sort of freaking me out.

"But ... since when are you even in contact with her ?"

She takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Suddenly, couple of months ago, I get a text from her, out of the blue. Sid and I have been prevented by your family from visiting or contacting you for most of the last year - I don't know if you even know this – so getting a text from her suddenly was a bit strange, and here she's saying she needs to talk to me, that it's important, and stuff. So we talked."

"What the fuck did she say ?" I blurt, jumping down her throat the moment she hesitates.

"She said she'd begun to get these inklings, this like, incredibly intense _energy_ between you two-"

"_Fuck_," Maxxie and I blurt.

"-starting to notice that you," she says indicating me, "would be depressed whenever you," she says, indicating Maxxie, "would leave, even just leave the _room_. That your face would fall, Tone, and you'd be antsy and upset, and it would only end when Maxxie came back, like an antidote to a sickness, she said. She said it was like you would be giddy whenever you'd see Max-"

"_Shit,"_ Maxxie and I say.

"Euphoric," she continues. "She said she started to think, 'my god, _Tony's acting like he's in love_.'"

Christ. Why is it so unnerving ? The knowledge that my little sister knows ? It absolutely ridiculous that I would feel this way – we plan on 'coming out' when we return, after all – and yet it's still so weirdly scary.

"So … what did you tell her ?"

"I said I thought it was ridiculous, and that you were still in recovery, so your emotions were liable to be all over the place, but then she said you were at 92%, and you were completely normal emotion-wise, the rest of the time, totally back to being yourself, _except_ where Maxxie was concerned. She said the clincher was when you started acting jealous of his boyfriend."

"_Oh, no,"_ we both blurt.

"Christ," I add, "Does anyone else know ?"

"No, apparently not, but it's not like she could ask. She made me promise not to tell a soul." She turns to Sid. "I didn't even tell _you_."

"I wouldn't have believed it, anyway, frankly," Sid offers. "I guess I still don't. Given your history, Tone, I mean ..."

I shrug. I look off, dazed.

"It's not something you plan," I offer. "Just another in a series of life-changing things that happened; except this time it was good. Made everything worth it."

Maxxie leans close, at this, so that our shoulders touch, and reaches out a soft hand to hold onto my arm.

The four of us then stand there, pondering it all.

"I guess I just … couldn't imagine it," Chelle says. "It seemed impossible, given how well I knew you. So much so, that when Effy told me, all I could think – and I'm sorry, Max, but, all I could think was, did he influence this ? Because, how could it have happened, otherwise ?"

Max and I each start to speak when she cuts us off.

"I _know_ it sounds terrible. But it's just an illustration of how impossible it seemed. But Effy said there was no fucking way. Cut me to the quick saying she _knew_ you, Max, saw what kind of person you were the last year, and that you didn't have a manipulative bone in your body, and besides, there was _no_ influencing Tony, she said," she laughs softly, "about _anything_."

We laugh. Christ, what a relief. We will have our battles, when we get back, but to know that one of them won't be with Effy is a humongous weight off my – our - minds.

"But to be brutally honest," she continues, "and I really am sorry about this … I still had my doubts. Which is shitty and low, I admit," She looks at us both, the sincerity evident in her eyes. "It's just that … like Sid said, you just didn't have any gay tendencies, _ever_, Tone – your whole life, so, I guess I felt like … I don't know … I was scrambling for answers, grasping at straws that there _had_ to be some other explanation. Obviously Ef knows you guys better than I do."

We stand there, awkwardly. While my natural inclination is of course to leap to Maxxie's defense, the way she's put it all, so very _in_offensively, despite the subject matter, crystallizes it in your mind, to your great surprise, as being perfectly understandable and rationale, even. Not right, not truthful, not nice, but not, I suppose, an entirely unfair conclusion to arrive at, or at least, consider. And by that same token, one hopes, not one that will be hard for a rational, fair-minded person to overcome.

"Thing is," I start to say, but she cuts me off.

"No. Like Maxxie said, you don't owe us an explanation, Tone; really."

"No," Max interjects. "Go ahead, Tone. It's okay to talk about it."

"Ya," I continue, "I wanna say this." I glance at Max, take a breath, and re-grip his hand before continuing. "Thing is … what you learn is ... it isn't _about_ gay or straight, or whatever. It's about, y'know, just … _love_. You fall in love with the _person_. You don't fall in love with the _gender_. When somebody's right for you, when they're like, your total soul mate, and shit, when you've been to hell and back and you connect on every level," I shrug, "it's just sort of … _perfect_. And you don't fucking argue with perfect, y'know ?"

I glance again at Maxxie, and fuck if he isn't _beaming_. Total glowing love-beams radiating off him. Good – I didn't fuck it up, then.

When I look back at Chelle and Sid, they're watching us and almost sort of beaming, themselves. Suddenly they laugh.

"You _do_ make a smashing couple," Chelle says.

"Ya," says Sid, "and fuck if the love vibes aren't _hugely_ there," he laughs. "There's like, bolts of electricity running back and forth between you."

We, all four of us, laugh. It feels incalculably good.

"Tony," Chelle says, suddenly serious. "I just wanna say this, about everything that's happened. We admit it – Sid and I, we fucked up. We failed you, totally."

"Yup," Sid nods. "Not proud of it."

I try to say it gently as I can.

"What happened ?"

"We just," she continues, with emotion – it's clearly difficult for her to talk about,"we found it like, excruciating, seeing you like you were. That makes us weak, I guess, but at first, we were there all the time, pretty much every day – Maxxie can attest to this. I was absolutely terrified, everyone was, that you wouldn't wake up, that you'd just die, or be a vegetable, or whatever, and then when you did wake up, and you didn't know anyone, didn't recognize anyone – all of the past erased … Christ, it was just … it just became easier, less painful, to stay away. And … one day turned into the next, and pretty soon I hadn't been there in a week. And I argued with myself, got half way to hospital, and pictured you in that bed, and I'd make an excuse, and leave."

There's a bit of a pause. I mean, what can you say ?

"What was the thing you said, before," I ask, "about my family keeping you away ?"

She sighs huge, before continuing.

"Understandable, but ... both your mum and Effy were furious with Sid and I, and started actually physically prevented us from visiting – this happened numerous times. Which we totally understand. We _did_ fail you. But we both called, Tone, and emailed and texted you, dozens of times, _dozens_, and Effy admitted to me later that she deleted all the messages and blocked both of our calls."

"Okay," interjects Sid, looking from her, to me, "but that was mostly once we started dating. Which I guess we both more understood. We were total pariahs in people's eyes."

"Betraying the sick boy," I offer, voice a bit shaky.

"Yes," Sid nods, his body language betraying his lingering guilt. "And as time went on, we figured the _last_ people you wanted to see in the entire world was _us_, I mean, could there be any question about that ? So again, the only thing left to do was just ..." he takes a big breath … "stay away. Shitty as that was."

"We didn't know what the fuck else to do, Tone, honestly," Chelle says quietly. "We're so sorry."

"Totally," Sid nods. "It felt fucking awful."

Fuck, what an afternoon. There's just this ... huge pileup of emotions inside me … this threatening avalanche, which I feel like I need to be able to step back and _process, _lest a blood vessel burst …which Maxxie seems to sense, because he's gripping my hand extra tight. Please. I so don't want to be a tit, I _so_ don't wanna lose it and start slobbering all over the sidewalk.

Why is it doing this to me ? These people are supposed to mean _nothing_ to me, remember ? Ex-friends. _Enemies_. People I at one point could barely remember, though, yes, more and more memories pop up as time's been passing, but I've quickly snuffed them out. I've wanted to wash my hands of them, tell them, everyone, to go fuck themselves; reject my old life, pretend it never happened.

There's been a such a lot safety in _anger _all these months, in other words, in being the victim – something to hang my hat on, to blame, in part, for the oftentimes enormous chip on my shoulder. And now to suddenly hear the human side of it, to look into the pained and sincere faces of two people who it turns out, so obviously _care, _who still, it seems, obviously love me_ ..._ and it's pretty fucking overwhelming. All I can see is the tragedy of it all, the sadness and needlessness, and, despite what I've felt in my lowest moments, that it turns out, I was hardly the accident's only victim.

I'm trying not to let it show, these feelings – it's fucking embarrassing. I'm forcing myself to hold it in, to keep my face neutral …

Sid, thankfully, comes to my rescue.

"I don't mean to be an arsehole," he says, checking his watch, "but we have like, exactly twenty two minutes to make our train."

"Oh," I offer, thoroughly relieved, "okay."

"You guys staying over ?" Chelle asks.

"Ya," I nod, still in disbelief that I'm actually talking to them, that any of this has happened. "We're leaving first thing."

We stand there for an awkward beat, before Chelle reaches up suddenly, and pecks me on the cheek.

"I'm so glad we talked," she says. "I can't tell you."

"Me, too," I tell her, truthfully. "Really."

She shrugs. "Lucky fluke – Sid's cousin got him a free hotel room in Brighton, and we were gonna go last weekend, but we couldn't."

Sid approaches, and pats my arm quickly.

"You're looking good, Tone," he says, smiling. "Really healthy, like. Like your old self."

"Thanks. I feel great. Sorry again, um," I say, eying his semi-bruised cheek "about the punchup."

"S'okay," he shrugs, touching the spot. He turns to Max. "Sorry again, 'bout what I said. Really. I was just upset. Please don't take offense."

"Same here, Maxxie," Chelle adds. "Seriously. We both know what kind of person you are. We had no right."

"S'okay," he replies. "Forget it. We knew what people would think; it was inevitable." He shrugs. "It's just a matter of bringing them round."

She smiles. "I swear. All people will need to see is you two together – _that'll_ bring 'em round."

"Right," he nods, laughing, squeezing my hand.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Chelle says to him, smiling sweetly.

"Oh," he says in surprise that she'd remembered. "Thanks."

"We really have to go, though. Sorry."

"Okay," I tell them, and a set of words come out of my mouth that I truly never thought to hear. "Maybe we'll see you round town, then, at some point."

"Ya," Sid says, smiling – beaming - "definitely; if you want; absolutely."

"Bye," they both say, hurrying off.

* * *

And then what can I do, except turn to Maxxie, and liquify ? My eyes well, spill over, and I'm sobbing to the point where he has to pull me quickly into a side alley, so the whole world doesn't wonder why some tall skinny kid is having a nervous fucking breakdown in the middle of the street.

He shushes me and holds me, and it just makes me bawl even more – I'm a complete emotional mess, and despite the blubbering, I realize ... most of it's good. I'm overwhelmed on every level to have seen them – wanting at first to grind them both into the ground, to rub their noses in what they'd done – only to have the entire year's buildup of resentment, pain and confusion, all the fury and venom disappear in the space of ten minutes ... simply through words, through understanding and _empathy_. I mean, _wow_. HUGE.

"Shhh," Max says, holding me and kissing my neck. "It's okay, my angel. It's alright. _Shhh_."

Completely understandable, them staying away, that's what keeps hitting me; not excusable perhaps, but _understandable_. As I've thought many times before, had it been Maxxie, or maybe anyone in that bed in place of me, the person I was back then _would_ have fled, too. It doesn't mean it doesn't suck. It doesn't mean it's right. It just _is_.

"S'okay, Tone," he tells me, tenderly caressing my back.

To think my family deliberately kept them away, and on top of that, didn't even tell me …

To think Effy _KNOWS !_ Fucking knows ! And had the smarts not to pin it on Max. Always was an exceptional girl.

Why did she not say anything ? Why did she not come to me, if she suspected ?

Hoping it wasn't true ? Or if it was, that it would pass ?

Undoubtedly.

_Christ_.

What did she think about us going to Brighton ? Interesting that she hasn't texted or called the whole weekend – unusual, for her.

And now to return home and face these same sort of confrontations with everyone we know, all of whom will blame Maxxie.

This has been good practice, then, hashing it out with Sid and Chelle, helping produce the one big epiphany I hadn't previously grasped – that it's truly not about gender – it's about love, you idiot.

* * *

I calm myself, taking several deep breaths, drinking in his always pleasing scent, and lay my head out on his shoulder, nose edging tips of blonde hair where it spills over the collar, feeling safe; completely content. We stand there, quietly, for long moments, and it's like I'm floating; we both are, above it all; his energy giving me strength, his compassion, his love, filling me, sealing up the hole in my soul.

I press my lips into his flesh and hold them there, sealing our bodies together, sealing out the world, my heart swelling by the second.

"_I love you so much,"_ I whisper. _"More than anything. You have no idea."_

* * *

.

* * *

"I love you too, Tone," I tell him, my eyes pooling, heart swollen to the size of Jupiter. We stand there for ages, holding each other in a long, emotional hug, at some point during which, we find ourselves moving in a slow, easy sway.

I pull my head back and look at him, grinning, teasing.

"You gonna slow dance with me ?"

He grins shy.

"Maybe."

We part.

"You okay ?" I ask, cupping his face.

"Ya. This has just been … I don't know why I fell apart like that. It just hit me, hugely."

"I think it was maybe the whole last year landing on you at once."

"Ya, ya," he nods. "Totally. It conjured it all up." He looks off. "Fuck. I can't believe this just happened. I can't believe we talked."

"It was good, though."

"Fucking good. Incredible. It's like all the water's under the bridge now. All the bad shit." He looks at me. "Do you think ?"

"Ya. I think it was fate, or something. This has been lingering for so long, and it was damaging. To everybody, it turns out."

"What about what they said about you, though ?"

"Well of course that sucked, but we both knew it already, Tone. People are gonna blame me. But, here was a perfect example of how we handle it. How we can turn them around. And it worked, I think."

"Ya," he smiles broadly. "Did, totally. And it wasn't even that bad; do you think ?"

"It went about as well as could be expected."

I take his hand. We kiss softly.

"So what do we do now ?" he asks. "I need a drink."

I begin pulling him out of the alley and towards the sidewalk.

"Let's eat."

* * *

Over a late lunch at a fancy restaurant overlooking the water – our first big splurge - we stuff ourselves, and hotly discuss ... the pending return home, my own painful coming out, strategies to handle it all.

He rolls his food around with a fork.

"I'm not looking forward to it."

"Of course you aren't. We don't have to dive into it the second we get home, you know. We can wait, if you want."

He shakes his head slowly.

"Nah. I just don't see the point in prolonging the inevitable. Plus I don't wanna be sneaking around with you, hiding."

I nod. "I know." I touch his hand. "It'll be okay Tone. We'll get through it. Every gay kid goes through it, sooner or later."

He looks at me.

"So, am I gay ?"

God. This again.

"Tony, it's not really for me to decide. Personally, I'm betting you're maybe bi, at most. You haven't exactly grown up dreaming of cock, and I can't see you never being with a girl, ever again-"

He shakes his head.

"-I have zero interest."

"You have zero interest right _now_ because you're obsessed with _me." _I grin. "People _do_ tend to get that way, but that doesn't mean, some day-"

"-Nah, I don't wanna think about 'some day'", he smiles broadly, "I'm _plenty_ happy with my present obsession, thanks. _Tickled_, as it happens."

I laugh.

"Good."

* * *

"Let's get the fuck outta here," he says, gulping down the last of his drink.

"Yes," I say, flagging down the waitress for our check, "enough melodrama for one day, let's get to the fucking _beach_, already."

"_Rides_, Max. I need the sensation of being scared shitless one more time before we leave. Only thing that'll clear my emotion-addled brain."

"Alright, alright; _then_ the beach, agreed ?"

"Agreed."

* * *

After a solid hour of spinning, twirling, near-hurling, being flipped violently upside down and back, and generally screaming both my lungs raw, we make our wobbly-legged way round the trinket and souvenir tables, and then stumble home to the hotel.

"Phew," I bluster, plopping myself down in a chair. "_What_ a fucking day. Feels like _twelve_ days. Brighton's easily aged me a couple o' decades."

He comes in from the loo and stands before me, grinning.

"You still look pretty fucking hot, for an old guy."

"I'd look better if the bloody rides wouldn't muss my _hair_," I pout.

"Poor Maxxie," he laughs.

"Let's get some colour, Tone. We'll both look better. Our last bit of beach before we leave."

He runs a single finger up into my hair, and grins crooked.

"Sure you wanna go out there, again ?"

I look up at him, bring the hand down from my hair and grasp it.

"I'm a bit queasy from the rides; aren't you ?"

"Nope."

"I guess I ate too much beforehand, which didn't help. Let's laze around on the beach, rest some, get our energy back ..." I smile. "And then we can go all night."

He nods.

"Good," he says. "So we're on the same page. I'm holding you to it - sleep's officially not in the cards."

* * *

On the beach we enjoy a quick, leisurely swim before laying ourselves out on a single large beach towel, which of course, leads to much giggling, teasing, and activities bordering on foreplay. I'm in fact, rolling on top of Tony, squealing and grabbing for his hands, trying to prevent them from throwing sand into my swimming trunks, when a woman walking by suddenly stops to admonish us.

I look. She's holding the hand of a drooling, whining, two-year old whose red, tear-streaked face is smeared in melted chocolate.

"This isn't a _gay beach_, you know !" She says, all uppity and rude.

"Well, it isn't a _straight_ one, _either_ !" Tony snaps.

She looks mildly shocked. And, apparently having no rebuttal, walks off in a huff, after which, following a respectful pause, we burst out laughing.

"Holy shit," I tell him. "I thought she was gonna hit you !"

"_Fuck_ her. Not our fault she doesn't get to tumble round in the sand with anybody-"

"-And she's stuck babysitting a snot-nosed kid all day."

"Right," he laughs.

"What gets me about straight people is that they actually think they own the world, you know ? Like they're the only ones in it. I've seen countless examples of this. Seriously – had we been boy and girl messing round in exactly the same way, you think she would have said a word ?"

"Whatever. With any luck, her fucking kid will grow up _queer_."

* * *

After finally settling down and squeezing ourselves to fit side by side on the blanket, we almost immediately fall asleep, and when we finally wake up, over an hour and a half later, find that we each have some semblance of colour – mine mostly coming in the form of a reddish nose and collar bone, whilst Tony has a beautiful tinge of a bronze, spread evenly across his torso.

"_Wow_," I shriek, sitting up quick. "_Look_ at you !"

He does, perusing himself.

"What's the big deal ?"

"You look _hot_ !"

"I thought you _liked_ pale, Maxxie. You always go on about it."

"That's cuz I've never seen you like _this_. Plus," I say excitedly, "_tan lines_ ! !"

"_Huh ?_" he asks, looking at me like I'm mental, as I stand, gather our shit, and yank determinedly on his hand.

* * *

In the hotel lobby, at the last second I quickly veer off into the gift shop.

"What the hell are you _doing_ ?" he calls after me.

"Just hit the button for the lift ! I'll be there in a sec !" I call back.

"We already _got_ condoms !" he yells after a beat, as I scurry, purple-faced toward the cashier.

* * *

A moment later I'm rushing toward him as he stands with his back holding open the lift door, which is beeping incessantly and repeatedly trying to shut, drawing the ire of the hotel desk clerk, the bellhop, and several waiting guests, this being the building's only lift.

"_Sorry_," he says to them, as I scurry inward. "Just holding it for my _boyfriend_, here."

* * *

As we slowly begin our ascent, Tony, who stands on the opposite end from me, begins grinning. "What'd you get ?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "What was so _important_ ?"

"Nothing," I blurt. "Shut up."

An old woman standing by me then scolds me.

"Tsch. That's no way to talk to your boyfriend."

Tony looks from her to me and busts out laughing.

"Ya !" he shouts triumphantly, as the lift slows and stops, door opens, and everyone begins filing off. "You tell 'im, gramps !"

As she walks by him on her way out, you can hear it just under her breath.

_"Oh, shut up."_

* * *

As the doors close and the lift begins climbing again, he's all over me, trying to grab the object behind my back, but I keep swinging deftly away at the last second – as a dancer, I _am_ a tad more swift and graceful than Tony.

_Ding !_

The door opens, and I'm sprinting down the long hallway squealing in delight at having evaded his final grasp, holding the object in front of me so he can't see, quickly jerking the card into the key slot before he can reach it, and playfully shutting it in his face.

"Maxxie, what the fuck ! Let me in, already !" he says, pounding with his fist.

I'm giggling away, letting him stand there a moment. "What's the password ?"

"Cock !" He shouts, before I open it a hair.

He bursts through, looking round quickly, and I _leap_ onto his back from behind the door, kissing his ear and babbling like a maniac.

"Tan lines ! _Tan lines, _do you _hear_ me ? !"

"Fucking perv !" He laughs as I jump off and begin pushing him towards the bed.

"Lay back" I hiss, "and _don't undress. _I'll have to _check_ you._"_

"I should shower. I'm all sandy and sweaty," he says, raising a hand to sniff his own armpit. "I _stink_."

"Tony," I whisper, pushing him back on the mattress via a single finger to the chest, and climbing aboard, "if you think the smell of pure, raw _man_ is any sort of turn-off for me ..."


	27. 3D

And then, essentially, I'm mauled.

These two super soft, rose-red protrusions known as lips seemed to have swollen in size and developed supernatural powers as he goes about making an absolute ruin of me. If it wasn't so bloody exciting, I might be mildly freaked to have my face swallowed in it's entirety, teeth marks carved into flesh, nipples sucked so hard they're lifted straight up off my body … all as he pins my hands overhead and hisses out a running narrative of threats, compliments, and sexual predictions ...

"_You're SO fucking hot, SO fucking beautiful, you have no IDEA what you do to me. I'm gonna put you through a shredder, grind you into little bits and make you like it. EAT YOU ALIVE til your balls swell up like tight, juicy lemons. By the time I'm through with you, you'll wish you were never fucking born …"_ etc., etc.

In other words, you're lying there, in what is the most tense, uncomfortable and angst ridden state you can (barely) withstand ... _and it's absolute fucking bliss_.

* * *

He stops.

"Close your eyes."

"Wha ?" I ask, drooling, slowly batting them open – did he not notice that I haven't been able to do otherwise ?

"_Keep_ them closed, I mean," he grins. "Just for a minute."

_Why ?_ Is what Old Tony wants to ask, the bloke who, as a child, actually snuck downstairs undetected very late one Christmas eve, and with exquisite care and precision, managed to, one by one, pry open his own gifts.

New Tony ? He shuts his lids so fast it alters the wind currents.

"Okay," he laughs, whispering and leaning in to kiss me quick. "Now be a good boy and keep 'em shut. I'll tell you when."

Goddamn. Goddamn. Once again, _why_ does the issuing of direct orders in bed have to be so bloody _hot_ ?

* * *

Here I lay, visuals denied me, when something soft brushes my hands …

"What's'at ?"

"_Shush," _he says. "I never said you could talk."

Immediately following this second Maxxie-in-charge statement, the thing that's brushed against me, is, I realize, circling my wrists.

_What the ... ? _

My eyes fly open – it can't be helped – chin tilts up … and he's pretending not to notice as I'm watching him make a looping figure eight ... securing me to the rungs of the bloody headboard via a pair of, yes, women's panty hose – the answer to what he'd snuck off into the gift shop for.

* * *

And so, what to do ? Say ? Feel ? There he is, going about it quietly and carefully as if we've done this a hundred times, testing the strength, testing the knots he's making, tying and retying, the whole while never looking me in the eye or acknowledging I'm here, never stopping to maybe consider that while yes, in the gay shop, with handcuffs in hand, Tony could definitely see the erotic potential, only thing being, in his mind, _he wasn't the one bloody wearing them._

* * *

"What're you doing ?" I blurt, in what is maybe the single dumbest question I've ever asked.

He grins slow. He doesn't look.

"_Owning you."_

* * *

When he's done, when I'm as good as super-glued in place, without asking he pulls my shirt up over my head so that it rests against my helpless, upturned forearms; sucks, soft and slow, on each fingertip; kisses me to the near-suffocation point; in between checking with me under his breath to see if I'm alright, that nothing's too tight, that I'm not in any way uncomfortable, and informing me how I look and exactly what it's doing to him ... and, with no direct contact, I'm hard ... we're talking solid molten steel ... the cumulative impact of the most extraordinary mind fuck that it is to be ordered and arranged to another's liking – rendered passive - _prey_ – while at the same time, denied any ability to respond – to take matters into one's own hands … arms repeatedly forgetting, jerking up and snapping back down as I move to grab him, his face, his hips, with intent to throw him down and fuck the life from him.

And so I simply must endure it – this slow building, purposeful frustration; this maddeningly intense erotic tease - the tantalizing taste of voice, of breath; the scent of him, in my mouth, on my lids and lips; the sliver of warm air between us that he keeps eliminating; the face buried shameless, deep into my open armpit where it nuzzles and bites and growls ...

Gah! All of it, too much, brain and body swimming, drowning ...

struggle, gasp, curse

twist, kick, writhe …

and somewhere in the midst of it all, forced from me, forced from my stunned mouth and mind …

… is The Answer.

"_Fuck me."_

* * *

Yes. Perfection. Two small words representing giant things; fate, destiny, the completion of the circle that this most extraordinary of weekends has presented, the ultimate dividing line/litmus test before I can move forward with my new life, my new sexuality. Before I can move forward with Maxxie.

A concept that, yes, heretofore had been highly frightening and unappealing, but, I realize, if there's one thing I've learned the last year, it's that one must say yes to the world more than one says no.

* * *

Old Tony was very much Old World; a single dimension, single shade lad, you see: Top, Doer, Fucker (the latter in more ways than one).

New Tony by contrast has cobbled himself together, bit by bit, from far less conventional things, a kaleidoscope, it seems - it _feels_, of inspirations, colourful, abstract and free – 3D, shall we say. And on his arm he is lucky enough to have something magical; a beautiful, multidimensional being who, as friend, guide, teacher, and yes, _lover_, has opened up and introduced to him nothing short of _the world_; many worlds, in fact, and so it is only right that this be one of them.

* * *

I lay here bursting with light from my latest epiphany – _manifesto_ – and the bloody boy's ignoring me; too busy driving his tongue into my navel.

"Max."

He pulls his lips free and tilts his face up, just.

"_Ya ?"_

"Did you hear me ?"

"Huh ? No."

I smile. I'm beaming – the warm rays of light filling and colouring the room.

* * *

He stares a long minute before responding.

"Bollocks."

"No," I tell him. "I do. I want you to fuck me."

He stares on.

"Theoretically, you mean. Like at _some_ point."

"_No_, not theoretically, you twat. I mean _right now."_

He gulps. He fidgets.

"You're serious ?"

"Christ," I laugh. "_Yes_, I'm serious."

"Tony, I think it's … honestly, I think it's too early."

"What," I tease, "it's only 10 o'clock."

"Don't be a shit. You've been terrified of me going anywhere _near_ your arse, and now suddenly you want me to fuck it ?"

I laugh.

"_Yes_. I am _so totally_ ready."

"But … how are you so ready, all of a sudden ? What'd I miss ?"

I burst out laughing.

"Maxxie, you twat – look at me !" I shout, raising my wrists the little the bindings will allow. _"Tied to the bed_; totally conquered – _dominated ! _You think that doesn't fuck with your head just a tiny bit ? Give you a taste for new things ? "

"But ... is it _actually_ what you want, though, I mean, or …" he says, looking suddenly concerned, "you know, you might not be getting enough oxygen, the way you're positioned, it can-"

"-Fuck !" I bellow. "It's _not_ oxygen deprivation, you _shit_, it's an over-concentration of blood in one area ! Do you have any _idea_ how _hard_ I am right now ?" I laugh. "_Yes_, it's what I want ! You want me to beg ? Cuz I will."

Still, he hesitates. He's gone from a growling, purring sexual dynamo, straight back to my nurse, again.

I whisper.

"Baby, listen to me, it's _perfect_. The _perfect_ wrap on this weekend. It's like, I've figured it all out. It's the _key_, the final gateway to my new life, to giving Old Tony the bloody heave-ho and telling him to fuck off; starting my life completely over, y'know ? _With you."_

His stares a long while before his face softens into a sweet, gentle smile and he reaches out a hand.

"I guess I sorta can't believe we're even having this conversation."

I smile with him.

"So let's quit conversing and _get to it. '_Fore I lose my bloody nerve._" _

He laughs.

"Yes, sir."

He leans in and kisses me.

"Plus," I tell him, "that way you get closeup access to my _tan lines."_

* * *

He's bolt upright, straddling me and grinning ear to ear, peaking from behind the hand that covers his eyes while the other pulls down on the edge of my waistband.

"_Oh !"_ He shrieks over the sight. _"Beautiful !"_

"Perv."

"A love of tan lines is not a _perversion_, Tony," he says, making quick work of my zipper and belt. "It's more a _fetish_."

I squint.

"The difference being ?"

"Tan lines are natural and beautiful; nature's turn-on. _Organic_."

"Organic," I snort, "right."

"Think of them as a _demarcation_ line, a visual reminder that you're in secret, private territory, seeing something no one's supposed to see, which is so damned delicious," he says as I watch, helpless, as my shorts and unders go flying.

He looks. It's slightly mortifying, this perverted flagpole screaming _"I am SO bloody EASY !" _

"_Wow,"_ he laughs, wide eyed. "You weren't kidding."

* * *

Quickly, we've got the logistics down – knees bent, pillow under my bum, Maxxie condomed and generously lubed.

For the record, my stomach _does_ engage in a quite strenuous session of calisthenics as he approaches, despite my resolve that _we're bloody doing this,_ that it's something I need to experience – an existential, as well as physical penetration.

* * *

He leans in, hands under my thighs, resting his warm, naked form against mine, and kisses me, slow and reassuring.

"Sure you're okay with this ?"

I nod.

"Want me to untie you ?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I want the complete perverted package."

"But, I mean, if it doesn't go well, you might equate it in your mind with something negative."

I grin.

"Come on, baby. Take a look at my dick. You think Tony isn't _totally digging_ this bottom shit ?"

He laughs a gorgeous, full bellied laugh. I can see the tension rise off him.

I lean in and bite his lip, whispering in my best, graveliest voice.

"_So, fuck me, already."_

* * *

_A/N: I gather nobody bothers to read these these author's notes, but just in case, I wanted to say Happy New Year to everybody. Also, congratulations. If, by chance, you have been reading along with this tale, chapter by chapter from the beginning, you have now been reading it for a little over a year. I was stunned to notice this the other day- that the first chapter went up on Dec 26, 2010. Living with these boys all this time has been damn hard work, but ultimately, a quite fab and rewarding experience, however, alas, the wonderful world of make believe that is Tony From Scratch will be coming to an end soon, due to time constraints brought on by my having enrolled in a night class. _

_So, please stay tuned for the time being to see how it all ends, and in the meantime, I hope you have found that the story has been worthy of your time. _


	28. Giving Light 2 All The Magic In The Room

And then he's laying alongside me, knee pulled back to rest against him as he reaches a hand across my torso and down low ...

It is rather an extraordinary thing, of course, the moment you're to officially enter the Great Gay Penetrative Kingdom, and despite my bravado, I'm, of course, nervous as fuck. Maxxie, of course, is sweet as can be.

"There's three things you should know," he says kissing my ear.

"Okay," I say, shaking away.

"One: you're unbearably hot, and I love you."

"Right," I smile. "So is that, um, one thing, or two ?"

"That's just one. Two: you have total veto power at any point – you just need to say the word, but bear in mind it will feel weird, at first; it does for everybody."

"Okay."

"Three, and listen up. This is important," he says, slipping a hand behind my head to pull me close. "Are you listening ?" he asks, when our faces are half an inch apart.

I blink in anticipation. "Ya."

As he speaks, his lips brush mine.

"_You're unbearably hot, and I love you."_

* * *

In the midst of drowning in his lips, swimming along with the blissful, peaceful tide, without further ado ... _inward slips a finger._

* * *

Gulp. _Just_ there … _just_ in the door ... and his thumb meanwhile caresses the sac in exactly the way that I like ... but no amount of distraction can hide the extraordinary event happening just south, and I can't help but break away and peer down at the balance of Maxxie's hand, the graceful arc of his wrist ...

"Y'okay ?" he asks nervously. "Not hurting you ?"

In truth, my body is singleminded in it's desire to repel the invasion – weird isn't the word for how it feels – but I clench my teeth and overrule the fucker, smothering the instinct screaming at me to _push the fucking thing_ _out_, and instead, squeeze down on him, in welcome.

His eyes fly from below, back to mine, and he laughs.

"Wow."

"What ?"

"Your muscles are really strong."

"Are they ?" I say, straining to sound normal.

"Yes," he says, cupping my jaw and kissing away the shakes. "Tony, I absolutely can't believe we're doing this."

"You think _I_ can ?"

"Is it okay, though ?"

Trying as best as I can in this awkward, arms-overhead position, I shrug.

"Dunno. Feels really weird."

"I know," he says quietly. "It gets better, though; promise." When I look unconvinced, he stops and gives me those big, puppydog eyes. "Do you want me to stop ?"

Okay, the answer may be _'fuck yes'_, but I can't bear the beginning hints of a pout, the look of anticipated disappointment in his face. He wants it _so bad,_ for me to be introduced to this new, magical world – _his_ world - to things more delicious than I could possibly imagine; more, even (his eyes say) than anything we've done thus far.

Most important of all, he wants to be the one to do the introducing. Yes. Straightahead, pure, selfless Maxxie.

Only a cad would dream of disappointing him.

I shake my head no.

"I'm fine," I lie. "Really. Keep going."

* * *

With the introduction of the second digit, I'm happy to report, it's somehow easier. Why my body is accommodating of something larger rather than smaller is beyond me … which does of course portend well.

Kid's good at this deflowering business, is what it must be. He seems to know instinctively what works, and what is too much, as he begins gently scissoring his fingers to help stretch the passage.

"How many virgins have you done, exactly ?"

"Fuck off."

"No; I wanna know. I'm not the first."

He smiles inwardly. He looks at me.

"No, you're not the first," he says, warm breath feathering my face, "but you're the last."

* * *

As he presses inward further, he kisses and reassures and murmur-whispers in my face and tells me all kinds of gorgeous things … but I'm still freaked, still having to overcome the kneejerk instinct to pull back, to pull away from the intrusion and make it all stop ... and then it happens.

Tony ? Meet _Panic Button._

"_Fuck !"_ I shriek into his mouth, hips lurching off the bed like my dick's been hit by lightning.

He looks horrified.

"Did I hurt you ?"

"_No,"_ I pant harshly_._ "If what I just felt was _pain_, right now I'd be a committed _masochist_. _Do it again."_

He does, smiling in relief and watching my face as he swirls his fingertips against the holy, infamous prostate.

"I _LIKE_ it," I blurt dumbly, writhing around, glassy eyed, to which he bursts out laughing.

"You do."

_Shit._ I don't know _what the fuck it is. _Some sort of _incredibly_ intense, root-of-your-cock, razor-thin, edge-of-insanity sensation. Akin to being slowly sucked off _from the inside_.

"_Uhhh." _Is all I can muster._ "Gahh … _Do that as long as you want," I manage to slur, as he continues. "We can call it sex, and _fuck_ everything else."

"No fucking way," he laughs.

A third digit joins the second. I grip the headboard.

"You said you'd check with me before doing that," I offer, weakly.

"I have. Your body gave me permission."

* * *

Our mouthes open, my head tilts back, and it's quite simply the most exquisite thing imaginable - a major, all out _double fuck_ – tongue darting and owning, yanking you back when you try to run, while the body cavity you had never before paid any mind – certainly no respect – completely betrays you by revealing itself as a secret, hidden burial ground for half-ignited sexual explosives ... and I'm flapping about, a completely helpless, completely pathetic, slobbering, hip lunging mess … which is all the invitation he needs.

There is the slow withdrawal; he does tell me ahead of time but I'm in such a fog it doesn't quite register. All I know is this warm, catastrophically addicting new thing invading my body is now leaving it, and I don't bloody want it to …

* * *

A heavy gush of air leaves my lips, and he rolls on top of me to breathe it in, arms outstretched, fingers meshing with mine, and we throw our mouthes and bodies at each other, gnashing teeth, grunting and bucking and sliding, giving light to all the magic in the room, and by the time we're done, by the time we've had our last pre-fuck kiss, I'm frankly exhausted – utterly spent by the buildup and tension and fear, by all the new, frighteningly intense sensations - by this whole damned bloody weekend.

* * *

For the record, a cock does feel very different from a finger, even a trio of same, and, as it's making introductions, I go white – picture a frost bitten gardenia – even my tan lines disappear. I stiffen, bite through my tongue and am rendered mute and dumb …

Understand, this is not, of course, just physical … What I didn't know, is that in letting someone _in,_ you become stripped of everything – all your deflections and defense mechanisms, all the things you throw up to protect yourself, to keep up the Tony facade – sarcasm and cynicism, world weariness, smartarse remarks and one-upping jokes – til all that's left, underneath, is simply ... _you ..._ the true, raw core … and amazingly, it sorta flings open the channels to your heart. You absolutely can't believe what it feels like to _feel_, to finally be introduced to yourself.

* * *

From here, every emotion is intensified, and everything's a blur. He moves, and my body absorbs him effortlessly, like he's a part of me - like he always has been - a single, beautiful, fluid mass that I want to own and embody and cling to. I resist the urge to cry, to shout stupid things in his face, and try simply to comprehend what is happening, but the brain isn't working - too overwhelmed, too caught up, and as his thrusts come, with each there is a deep, gutteral, nasty, embarrassingly indecipherable sound bouncing round the room ... and far in the back of my mind I feel bad for him, that these are the noises he makes when he fucks ...until I realize, it's ME, for fuck's sake, thrashing about, shouting and shrieking to the high heavens because for the first time in my life, _I'm having the right, bloody livid fucking daylights FUCKED right out of me_ … this super fleshy, _super_ ultra squishy tight, incredibly intense inner pull and drag thing that feels like it's stretching my navel, taxing my balls, yanking my nipples up and down …

"I wanna put my whole body inside you," he gurgles into my mouth, gripping my hair, "_Fuck you with my whole body."_

What makes him think he's _isn't_ ?

I throw my hands to his face to tear out his eyes, to rip out his hair … momentarily forgetting the bindings, and as they snap back, I hurl my legs behind him in frustration, hooking ankles tight round his perfect bum and thrust so hard I bruise; snarling, baring teeth, _"Fuck me !" _

Alas, as he does, the Great Prostate Pounding quickly proves too much. The sensation is that of a slow-burning supernova swelling to the danger point, invading my marrow, proving the ruin of every nerve ending as it spins my heart in place, rockets through corpuscles, through eyeballs and vertebrae, finally claiming my overly swollen, overly stressed member which thrashes about, helpless, on it's own, and burst into a million jagged bits.

_"Oh god,"_ he says, voice ragged, eyes crossed, looking down, panting hard, "you _came_. You fucking _came_."

"Did you think," I wheeze, when I finally can, "I wouldn't ?"

"Didn't know," he says, wheezing himself. "Afraid it all wouldn't work."

I allow a moment to pass as I absorb this.

"Are you fucking _NUTS_ ?" I snap.

His head pops out of the crook of my neck and he looks confused.

"Well, I just, y'know-"

"-No. Shut up. _Right now._ You are," I continue, panting like a beast, "hands down, the _hottest_, most _beautiful_, most extraordinarily spectacular FUCK _in_ _world history,_ do you understand ? _Do_ you ? ? You'd get a _dead_ man off."

He laughs. He beams like the sun.

"I'm not kidding," I continue. "So what are you waiting for ? _Fuck me, already. Let me watch you come_."

* * *

.

* * *

It's not like I need to be told twice, but understand, the whole bloody thing is so _surreal_, SO out of this world _insane_ … even in a weekend of genuine bloody miracles, to have somehow found myself in the literal midst and depths of his body, in the truly staggering position of having _actually_ just deflowered Tony Stonem ... to have even been _entrusted_ with such an extraordinary task is something so far fetched, even as I lay here, moments after I've witnessed it with my own eyes, felt the tremors quaking through him with my own body … that I know I will never be the same.

Meanwhile, for all my awed, dreamy thoughts, he's antsy.

"I said _fuck me._"

* * *

When I finish, I collapse in emotional and physical exhaustion, making a jokey mental note to be sure to deflower more virgins, and move to quickly untie his (what must by now be) sore and aching arms, apologizing profusely over same and pulling them down to kiss and massage as he scolds me for being ridiculous and only wants to talk about _every single possible detail of every single second_ _of The_ _FUCK_, quizzing me like he never has, yabbering on a million miles a minute, _beside_ himself like a two year old in some strange, exotic shop filled to the brim with new and wildly addictive chocolate toys.

Not wanting to spoil the truly historic moment for him, for _us_, I try my best to keep up, to stay awake, jerking my eyes open each time they drift shut, particularly after he wraps me in a warm, blissful spoon hug ... but there really is only so much a boy can take – even though I do, in fact, feel super human at the moment, I am quite mortal, and despite the continuous motion of his lips, I prove it by helplessly falling to sleep.

* * *

Partly from guilt, but mostly not, a few hours later I awaken Tony via swallowing his cock, looking up at him all steamy eyed and sexy as I do, only to be met with a grin that can safely be described as _homo-mischievous_. So much so, that I actually do the unthinkable, and pull him out of my mouth.

"What ?" I ask.

He grins, and holds it.

"Go get Aloysius."

"Huh ? Why ? Just let me suck you, please," I say, lowering my face again, but he pushes me back.

"Come on. Do it."

"Tony, honestly, I'm _way_ too wasted to be fucked."

"That's not what I want it for."

"Huh ? But-"

"Just go get it, baby, _pleeease_ ?"

I walk off in a huff – why did I ever let on that the use of that one little endearment is guaranteed, always, to crumble my resolve ?

"There," I tell him, throwing it on the bed. "What, then ?"

* * *

In the next minute, I find myself doing something I've never even contemplated, which, considering how much I've pondered the male form, is genuinely saying something. Yes, a clever, cheeky bastard is Tony; ingenious, really, in that he's figured out a way we both get what we want.

* * *

"_Farther_," he gasps, "come on, _more,_" he pleads, as one purple, generously lubed sex toy makes it's careful way up his bottom. Am I going to be sorry one day, I wonder, that I introduced him to bumsex ?

No, I think, when I've pushed as far as it will go. Not so long as I get to suck, while Aloysius fucks. _Ingenious_, I tell you.

Yes, but as I work out a rhythmic mashup between twin alternating double pumps; satanic, torturously slow backward drags; and soft, either-or suction-thrusting, and just as I'm beginning to _actually_ get jealous of Aloysius ... he comes. I'm talking screaming plutonium gunshot. And it's only been thirty seconds.

He shakes and shudders and wheezes like I've never heard, like a frozen diesel engine, like somebody on his death bed, to the point where I'm momentarily frightened. Is he having a fucking stroke ?

I carefully remove, and toss Aloysius to the floor.

"What is it, my angel ? Are you okay ?"

He pulls me, weakly, into the sweet circle of his arms.

"_Yes,"_ he says, and promptly falls asleep.

* * *

We're not quite done. Early morning, with the sunrise streaking through the curtains, we roll out of bed and rather than have a badly needed wash, find ourselves, instead, making out in the shower, where it turns out, Tony has prepared a freshly lubed condom, and is incapable of keep his hands off the wall.

* * *

On the train some hours later, Tony's phone beeps. He fishes into his pocket to find that Effy has texted him.

_On ur way back ?_

_Yup,_ he texts back.

He goes to put the phone down, when it beeps a second time. He looks.

_Chelle told me she talked 2 U._

"What does she mean, Max ?" he asks, nervously.

I grab the phone and read the message.

"It's Effy, Tone. When does she ever pussy around ?"

_Ya ? _He texts back, and shows it to me.

"No use being coy, is there ?"

He sighs in resignation.

"Nah. Guess not."

_Maxxie and I are lovers, _he blurt-texts.

"Fuck, do you have to be _that_ blunt ?" I ask, but he's too busy texting away.

_But I guess u already suspected,_ he continues.

He sits back, anxiously biting his fingernails – not something I have _ever_ seen him do, until the phone finally beeps.

_Ya, I did. _

"_Fuck,"_ he exclaims, showing me the screen. "Look at _that_."

As I read, another text blips into place.

_I'm cool with it, if ur wondering._

_Okay, _he quickly writes back.

_Not saying I wasn't confused and still sort of am, but if ur happy, I'm not gonna freak on u._

_Good. Have 2 ask. How long have u known ?_

_Months. Wasn't all that hard 2 C._

_Do mum n dad know ?_

_Highly doubt it. Want me to drop some hints ? It might help pave the way._

_No. We'll take care of that. Y did u not come 2 me about it if u knew ? _

_Guess I wanted to give U ur privacy while u worked it out._

_Worked it out ? It's not a phase, if that's what U mean, Ef._

_Christ, ur annoying. Think about it. Everything U'v been through the last yr, good and bad, u needed space 2 deal with. I knew if this was what was going on, that it was pretty fucking huge, and that U'd need serious space. That's all I meant, fucking twat. _

_Fuck off. Ur cool with it, though ? Honestly ?_

_Honestly ? Well, only cuz of the mega-grief U guys R gonna get, not so much, but otherwise, if u have 2 go with a boy, u could do a fuck of a lot worse than Maxxie._

I'm unsure whether to laugh at this point, or how to take it as I read along with him. Yes, it's nice to be complimented, but it's still just so unnerving to be talking about this 'out loud' – something I've barely had time to process or realize myself - and to _Effy_ of all people.

The phone beeps again and we both peer in at the screen.

_Honestly, I'd fuck him, if he ever got sick of u. I figure if u can go gay, he can go str8._

Tony's fingers fly across the screen

_FUCK YOU ! YOU ARE _NOT_ STEALING MY BOYFRIEND !_

I look at him, expecting a laugh, but to my surprise he looks stressed and upset. She was so obviously kidding. Why did he flip out ?

I hook my hand into his elbow.

"Tone, come on. She was just-"

The screen blips. We both look.

_So u think of him as your bf ?_

"Fuck," he says to me. "What does she _think_ I think of you as ?"

"Tony, calm down. She was obviously testing you. You know how Effy is. She just wanted to hear you say it."

He looks at me.

"Christ. You're right. You know her better than me."

"Apparently. She's crafty."

"Always has been, fucking little wench." He goes to type, but another message is there.

_Do u love him ? _

_Yes. _He quickly responds. _Completely. __Never been happier._

My heart soars a thousand feet into the air. I clutch his arm with both hands and kiss his temple. He turns his face and moves a hand to my jaw and kisses me sweetly on the mouth, no matter that the whole train is watching.

We both turn to the blank screen. There is a bit of an agonizing wait before the message appears.

_Good. And he loves U ?_

"Absolutely" I say, as he texts the same word.

_Okay, that's all I needed to hear. (And btw, that makes 2 of us.) CU when you get back. Have a good trip._

* * *

A/n:

1) In a small bit of ironic fun, I wrote the final draft of this chapter while watching tonite's Republican presidential debate. So yes, while the candidates pontificated about 'family values' and spoke against gay marriage, I was busy having the love of Tony's life shove a dildo up his arse.

2) The more sex scenes you write, the more difficult it becomes to make them fresh, and to keep the descriptions (hopefully) semi-interesting. I admit to a certain fondness, however, not only for the idea of Tony being simultaneously penetrated and sucked (and for this being _his_ idea), but for the phrase "screaming plutonium gunshot," which just fucking makes me laugh.

3) I feel like this chapter was almost _too_ filthy - which, coming from a gal like me who loves her boy on boy stuff, is kind of saying a lot. But no matter. I'm glad Tony was (very) successfully deflowered despite his fears and misgivings, and that he liked it so much, he asked for it twice more. I'm glad the boys are on their way home, and I'm glad Effy texted Tony (been writing that bit in my head for weeks) and that they got it all out in the open. Underneath the tough exterior, she's a sweet kid who loves her big brother, so it struck me, almost at the last second, that I should have her tell him so.


	29. Home

When we arrive at the train station, to our surprise and slight discomfort, okay, more than slight, there is Effy.

"I thought mum was picking us up," Tony says.

"She is. She asked me to go shopping with her, after."

"Oh."

There then ensues the world's longest, most agonizing pause, after which, she observes Tony.

"Tanned. Y'look good."

He smiles warmly. He takes my hand, and she looks from it – our joined hands - to me for the first time – just a brief glance, but in it there is, unless it's my nervous imagination, a hint of displeasure.

"I _feel_ amazing," he says. "Can't believe how much your life can change in one weekend."

"Mm," is her flat reply, as she gives me another small, possibly hostile glance, which, as we turn to head off towards the car park, sets off every paranoid alarm bell in my head – _oh god, maybe it isn't a change she wants for him. Maybe she hates me, after all. Maybe the idea of our relationship in _theory_, wasn't so bad, but now that she's seen us together_ ...

"I'm not impotent, anymore, just so ya know," he offers, making it a million percent worse, "so I won't be needing therapy after all," he adds with a small laugh, while I turn purple and scramble for neutral subjects to interrupt him with. "That's one of the things that changed," he continues. "Also, I've sort of discovered I'm a bottom-"

-I cough violently and drop his hand, cringing in horror as I scan the landscape for any suitable bushes to dive behind, as Tony stops dead in his tracks and begins fishing in his pockets.

"_Shit_. My phone. Musta left it on the train. Wait here," he says, and sprints back to speak with the conductor.

_Wait here ? _Stand here _by myself_, with the girl who, it increasingly seems, intends to throw me in front of the next train ?

She, my potential murderer, then turns to me, and becomes my not-so-potential-murderer.

"Right," she says, eyes narrowing, "so you're not gonna tell Tony I said this. Even though I don't understand this situation, if he's decided after all he's been through that this is what he wants and this is what makes him happy despite the shit that's gonna rain down on his head because of the homo thing, then that's all that matters to me. You're a decent little shit, Maxxie, and I guess I trust you. You're his best mate, and my whole family owes you a huge debt of gratitude, and I _believe_ that you love him, and all that, so for all of those reasons, this thing has my blessing. But I'm telling you right now, and you'd better _fucking_ be listening: if he comes _all_ the way over to your side and you fucking end up _hurting _him, in _any_ way, there is no question as to what will happen: I will _seek_ you out, and I _will_ kill you;got it ?"

Were I a bigger man, and were she even slightly less intimidating than she is, and were I to have any semblance of doubt at all about her words, I might tell her to fuck off and mind her own goddamn business. As it stands, I stammer out an immediate agreement.

"Um, um _ya_."

"Good," she says, and puts on a fake smile for Tony who has rushed back, phone in hand, to our side.

* * *

Just before we approach the car, Effy, who is leading our way towards it, calls out a single word in a short, sharp tone.

"_Hands !" _

After which, Tony and I immediately drop ours.

* * *

In the car, Mrs Stonem cheerfully asks us about our weekend.

"So how was it? What did you boys get up to ?"

God almighty.

I deliberately don't look at Tony and blurt the first word that comes to mind.

"Dancing."

"Oh, well I'd expect that of you, Maxxie. But you boys must have swum a bit, and done the rides, and lots of other stuff."

"Ya. Lots." I offer, instantly horrified over my choice of words – did that sound suggestive in any way ? "_Too_ much," I then add, in tones as friendly and non-sexual as I can possibly make them, as if that phrase sounded any more innocent.

What's the use, I think. She's not stupid. Can't she sense it ? Can't everyone ? The electricity rocketing back and forth between me and her son ?

"It was an absolutely amazing weekend," Tony blurts. "I'll never forget it."

"_Rea_lly," she says, with a curious turn in her voice. "Why is that, then ?"

I shoot him a look and shake my head – barely perceptible little shakes no one else can see - not _now_, for fuck's sake ! _You cannot come out to your mother in the car in the first three seconds_, and surely not with _me_ right here ! I'd actually like to make it home in one piece.

"Did you meet someone ?" She continues. Damned women's intuition.

"Umm ..." he offers.

Okay, _stop right there, _my eyes scream, boring into him.

In response to the lack of response, she laughs.

"Never mind. I'll pry it out of you later."

_You won't need to,_ I think.

* * *

The car stops in front of my building, which looks strange to my eyes, like I've been away for months. I offer my thanks for the lift and then turn to Tony, next to me in the back seat ... and, silly and romantic as it may sound, suddenly it's wrenching, that we're about to be parted.

Silly and romantic ? Actually … no. Tony and I have been through enormous, life changing things together the last year, things that would have strained most people's friendships, to say the least, let alone sanity. And yet it somehow served only to knit us tighter together. As crazy as he may drive me at times, what it comes down to is, we're like twins, he and I; brothers, soul mates - we share an intense, insoluble bond that I've never felt with _anyone_ … and then what happened ?_ Brighton happened._

Love, to that time stifled and denied, when finally acknowledged, when finally allowed light, air, and respect, sprang up and claimed us both, marked us in a way that feels meaningful and real, and in it then taking a very definite (and very intense) physical form, cemented the issue for good.

So, sitting here next to the boy who feels like the love of my life, knowing what he is about to face - alone – surely among the most painful and difficult tasks anyone can – that of coming out to one's parents … is yes, wrenching. He may feel, by virtue of knowing me and hearing my stories, that he's prepared for what's about to happen, but in truth is, you can't be. There is no preparing for something like this.

Or maybe I'm just being the melodramatic gayboy. Tony's family is modern and progressive, and Effy, thank god, will be there to back him up, and hopefully, to defend me, which I think of in this moment, not in the interest of saving my own hide, or reputation around town, or whatever, but because the sooner they understand and accept that Tony chose this _himself_ without any inducement or influence from me – which will be difficult, at best, for them, because it removes the existence of the ever-coveted scapegoat and would force them to accept him exactly as he is – the sooner he and I can be together. The alternative is unthinkable.

What scares me is that this is the same family that successfully managed to block all contact attempts made by both his then-best mate, _and_ his girlfriend. It seems entirely plausible, then, that if they perceive me as some sort of threat – a predator at worst, a bad influence at best - that they will try to protect him by 'blocking' me from his life, as well.

But yes, the situation with Sid and Michelle was different. Tony was not in charge of his own life, back then – even his own body, in many ways; he barely had a life at all. These days, he's his own person. Hell, he's almost 18; he does have some rights, and meanwhile, I'm no stranger to this family. I've ably demonstrated what kind of person I am; freely given up an enormous amount of my spare time to care for, prop up, babysit, ferry about, host, feed, cajole, entertain, support, nurse, and generally watch out for Tony, proceeding along the way, as he did, to lose my entire former circle of friends.

And so, if they love him as much as I know they do, then they _have_ to see that potentially interfering in this 'situation', as Effy called it, would not only be senselessly cruel, especially to someone as lonely as he, but also needless, and, most of all, useless. The mere fact that I helped cure him of his impotence – which is going to come out – Tony has proven he has no filter whatever when it comes to public declarations about our sex life - will, I hope, prove a testament to the strength and health of our bond ... but then, okay, wait. _Shit_ … what am I thinking ? _Nobody's _gonna see it that way, are they ? If they're going to be dicks about the situation, this will _not_ be a positive in their eyes – of course it won't ! All they'll see is unmet physical needs on his part, and lust and wantonness on mine.

Of course this is to say nothing of what my family may think. I will undergo the same sort of grilling, albeit by people predisposed, at least, to love and believe me: What, you were in love with Tony all that time, and you never intended to act on it ? Seriously ? It never once crossed your mind ? How is it that you ended up having sex with him, then ? And how is that any different from sex you've had with other straightboys ? To say nothing of the timing – be honest with yourself – couldn't this be a rebound thing ? You _just_ broke up with Bill.

Sigh.

Okay, and to make matters even worse, here's an angle I hadn't previously thought of: Tony's mum and mine are tight, since they were school girls. They've been over each other's houses a million times – all through Tony and I growing up, and beyond – for babysitting, lunches and dinners, late-into-the-night card games, whispery gossip sessions, crying spells, bawdy laughter, husband bitching, etc., etc. Who is to say these two women won't end up in an enormous spat over _'us_'; Tony's mum accusing, my mum defending, after which, the two families never speak to one another again ?

Is it possible that Tony, under all of these super-intense pressures, will be caused to reevaluate the 'situation', and decide that on balance, it's simply not worth it ? Will I, in turn, be caused to curse, to the screaming heavens, the very day I met him ?

* * *

With a raw and painful lump in my throat, the heaviest possible heart, and water threatening my eyes, I turn, open the door, and step out and round back as Mrs S pulls the interior boot latch on the car.

The lid pops up and I reach in for my suitcase, and to my surprise, there, next to me, suddenly, stands Tony.

"What are you doing ?" I ask.

"Saying goodbye," he answers, the _total_ wrong thing to say to me at this point, and I burst into a quiet, tear-streamed sob. "Come _on_, Max," he whispers, holding his hand up to keep the boot lid in the air in order to block the view his mother would have of her son _very_ thoroughly snogging a boy. "I love you," he whispers, holding a hand to my chin a brief second.

"_I love you, too. Nothing will change that, Tony; whatever happens."_

"I know."

"Call me, or text me, or email me, _as soon as you can._ Even if it's two in the morning; _four_ in the morning – it doesn't matter - I won't be able to sleep, I won't be able to _stand_ it if I don't hear from you."

"I will. Promise. Don't worry so much."

"Are you nuts ? I can't possibly help it," I say, examining his face: twin, crazy-huge blue pools; pink, curving swollen lips; banks of perfect, perfect, perfect skin. I want to memorize every detail, every pore, as if it will somehow insulate us against the coming tsunami.

"Why do you have to be so _beautiful_ ?"

He laughs.

"I'm not."

"You are, to me."

He goes to step away, but I grab him a split second before, and snog him good. We then jump in place because of the car horn and Effy shouting from inside, _"Come ON, for fuck's sake !" _He pulls back from me, his face emotional, silently shuts the lid, and without looking back, re-enters the car, which promptly speeds off.

I turn to watch, overtaken with grief, so much so, that I stumble, and almost fall.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ I think, sniffling and wiping my wet eyes. _Relax. The sky's still up in the air. It __isn't falling down on your arse, is it ?_

_Fuck off, _I say to my mind.

As I begin moving, I spy a boy I sort of know out front of the building, too young to be having a smoke, who it turns out had a perfect view of the farewell scene that just ensued.

"Wasn't that _Stonem_ ?" He asks, incredulous, half laughing, as I pass in front of him.

To lie would be to protect Tony, were everything between he and I to fall apart. It would also, in this moment, I'm convinced, somehow, cosmically, lend credence to the notion that there is anything he needs protecting from. As well as serve as a vote of no-confidence in his family, himself, and maybe, us.

And finally, it would be confirmation that anything this young git just witnessed was the least bit funny.

I stop, straighten up, and turn to him.

"_Yes." _

* * *

I drag myself inside. Mum and dad are on the couch, watching telly, entirely innocent of what is to come.

"Oh, sweetie, you're back," Mum says, smiling. "How was it ?"

I'm stock still, feeling, and apparently looking, like death.

"What is it, Maxxie ?" Dad asks, eying me. "What's wrong ?"

I hesitate a long while, gulping round my rough throat, before speaking.

"_The whole world's about to crack in two." _

* * *

.

* * *

Weird, how everything feels weird. I'm right inside the exact footprints of my old life, family car, family home - it should all be familiar, and yet it's like I've aged and grown and been gone a decade.

Even weirder is how oddly crushing it feels to have left Maxxie just now. Why does it hurt so much ? Soon as I shut the door, my gut plummeted – hundred miles an hour – straight into my shoes. Do I rely on him that much, I wonder ? Need him too much, and will it ultimately drive him away ?

My mind races, flashing gooey-romantic feel-good images at me to take away the sting – he and I fucking round in the kitchen making popcorn, preparing to have people over – mutual friends, other couples - for our weekly movie night. There's me, tidying up, sweeping the floor because of the kernels that fell. There's Maxxie, taking down glasses and bowls from the cupboard, and we're laughing over stupid shit - in-jokes, familiar and dog eared; worn, but _well_ worn … until mum's chattering interrupts things.

"So, _did_ you meet someone ?" She asks, as Effy gives me the evil eye over her shoulder. _Don't even THINK about it til we get home_, _wanker_, is what the look says, _lest mum have a fucking heart attack and drive into the side of a building, or plow into twenty people at a bus stop. (Also, mum's taking me shopping,_ it adds as a selfish post script, _so if you hold off til later to drop the nuclear M-bomb, I'll meanwhile get some free shit.) _

Ahh, how trivial things seems, back here in the 'real world'.

"Tony, come _on_. You're driving me crackers. _Did_ you ?"

"Technically, no," I offer, despite Effy's silent death stare – no, _because_ of it.

"Huh ? What does _that_ mean ?" Mum laughs.

"Not anyone _new_, I mean," I answer, in response to which Effy turns in her seat and gives me her most strenuous dagger-glare. I can't help it. To me, what has happened qualifies as extraordinarily joyous and good, something to be sing about, to celebrate and applaud, and truthfully, I'm dying to scream it from the rooftops.

"A girl from school ?"

"Fuck's sake, mum, can't you grill Tony about his love life _later_ ?"

"Well I wouldn't _have_ to grill him, if he'd stop being so cryptic. I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like I'd know the girl. And even if I did-"

"-Can you shut up, mum ?" Effy says in frustration.

"Effy, can you _fuck off _?" I snap. "Don't tell mum to shut up."

"Fuck off, _yourself_."

"Alright, _stop it," _mum says. "Tony will tell me all about his weekend when we get back from shopping."

"How long will that be ?" I ask.

She shrugs.

"Well, we have lots to do, then we're having lunch with my sister, so coupla hours, at least."

"Don't know if I can wait that long," I mutter.

"So, tell me then !" Mum exclaims, as we pull over in front of the house.

"Don't," Effy turns and whispers, as if mum can't hear her, whilst giving me the same nearly-indecipherable head shake that Maxxie did. Jesus Christ, all of these people wanting me to hold off, to shut up about the thing that's bursting inside me.

"Don't _what_ ? !" Mum snaps.

"Mum," I begin, nervously, happily, my insides like a waterfall. "Something happened in Brighton." Deep breath. "Something _big_."

"_Fuck's SAKE,"_ Effy groans, ripping open the car door and jumping out.

Mum smiles, turns in her seat, and looks at me in anticipation.

* * *

Suffice to say that what ensues over the next several hours – the rest of the entire day, basically - is like a poorly written, badly prepared high school production in numerous acts or, rather, say, a multi-part black comedy/drama/soap opera/farce, complete with tears, threats, three-way screaming matches, insinuation, accusation, outrage, hurt feelings, slammed doors, and people storming out of rooms and out of the house.

* * *

_Act 1._

Outside the car, just after I told her, mum won't look at me. I follow her up the stairs, but she won't listen.

"_Ridiculous_," she says, angrily shaking her head as she sticks the key in the door. "If this is some kind of joke, Tony, it's not funny."

"It's _not_ a joke !" I say, following her into the house. "And it's _not_ ridiculous !"

"What's not ridiculous ?" Dad asks, as he enters the room.

There is a momentary beat, after which Effy says, all nonchalant:

"Tony's in love with Maxxie."

* * *

"We didn't mean for it to happen !" I say, hurt and confused and angry – all of the things Maxxie said I would feel, but I didn't believe him. "It's not like we planned it ! It's been going on for-"

"-'_We_'", mum says, "what is this _'we'_ business ?"

"Maxxie and I are in _love_, mum, that's what I'm trying to _tell_ you !"

"_No_," she snaps, "that is _not_ what you said. You said _you_ were in love with – you are under the _impression_ right now for some _insane_ reason_-_ that you're somehow in _love_ with-"

"-I _AM_ in love with him !-"

"-You did _not_ say that _HE _was in love with _you_ ! So _THAT's_ what this is about ! Maxxie has a _crush_, like he does on _half_ the boys in town, and _now_ he has you _confused_-"

"_-NO !" _I scream. "You're _NOT_ listening to me !"

"I am _not_ going to be yelled at in my own kitchen !"

"Yes, you _ARE_ !" I yell, red-faced. "Until you _HEAR_ me !"

"_Tony,"_ dad snaps. "Stop it !"

"No, I _won't_ fucking stop it, dad ! This is something you guys need to _understand_, and are gonna have to _accept, _because it's the _truth: Maxxie and I are in_ _love_."

"This is absolute _rubbish_ !" Mum says, angry and stricken. "What did you _take_ when you were there ? I want to know ! What did you try that you shouldn't have ?"

"What the fuck are you talking about ! ?" I shriek. "We didn't take _any_thing ! We barely had one drink between us the whole weekend ! Is this _really_ the lengths you're gonna go to-"

"-You shouldn't have gone on the rides, after all," dad pipes in. "How do we know it didn't aggravate the brain bleed ?"

"Fuck's sake, dad, because it DIDN'T ! I'm in _love. _I'm not _sick_ !"

"You _have_ to be !" mum says. "Do you think I don't know my own son ? I fucking _raised_ you these last 17 years! You're _obviously_ under Maxxie's influence ! And let me tell you, he has an _awful_ fucking lot to answer for if this is the product of one weekend with him! And here we all thought we knew him! I'm gonna ring his goddamned neck next time I see him !"

"_No_, mum - he _didn't DO anything! _And it _wasn't_ just one weekend, it-" I attempt to interject, but dad talks right over me. Two minutes into this, and I'm shaking, and exhausted.

"-Tony," he says, speaking sternly, "you're not entirely well – do we need to remind you of that ? You're still _recovering_. If anything is evidence of that, _this_ is. Maybe we thought you were further along than you were. You probably never should have gone to-"

"-This is _insane_ ! I am not _sick_ !-"

He talks right over me.

"-People with brain injuries can sometimes be easily swayed, or imagine things that aren't there. We'll call the doctor in the morning, and that's all there is to it, but in the meantime, _Maxxie is not welcome in this house_-"

"-Will you LISTEN for fuck's sake ? This is NOT Maxxie's _DOING _!" Is the next thing said. Not by me.

By Effy.

* * *

_Act 2._

Both my parents swing their heads round like they'd forgotten she was there, like they'd forgotten she _existed_, so transfixed are they by the Great Gay Trauma.

"You seriously think he's capable of … what ? _Raping_ Tony ? Goody-goody squeaky clean Maxxie ? He's the decent-est fucking person any of us knows !"

"Or _thought_ we knew," dad snarls.

"There is no _WAY," _Effy argues,"Maxxie could've made this happen if Tony didn't want it to !"

"Well he _must_ have – it's the only explanation !"

"Tony fell in _love_ with somebody-"

"-A boy !"

"Well it wouldn't be the first time in history !" Effy continues, "They've spent so much time together, they're like a single fucking _person_."

"This is impossible," mum says, throwing her hands up in the air. "And thanks, Effy, for knowing about this and not coming to us."

"What!" Effy snaps. "I wasn't about to _out_ Tony."

Mum winces.

"Oh, Christ. Here come the 'P.C.' terms." She looks at her. "I have news for you, darling. Tony can't be 'outed' because he's _straight_."

* * *

_Act 3._

After another couple hours' painful run around, during which none of us is getting the least bit anywhere, I begin to feel nauseous. I'm sweating, certainly. Effy is pacing. Dad is puffed up and pink, and mum is leaning over the sink like she might throw up, the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead, signifying a pending migraine.

"I can't listen to this rubbish anymore," she says wearily. "You're seeing the doctor tomorrow, Tony, and let's not have another word about it."

"I don't _need_ the fucking doctor !"

Her neck snaps.

"Oh, no? Just a complete, one hundred percent turn around in your personality, over a single weekend, and you don't need a doctor ?"

"Mum ! _Please_ listen to me ! Please _believe_ me ! _Why_ would I lie ? _Why_ would I make it up? I swear to god I'm telling you the truth! This has been going on for months ! It's not _sickness _! It's _love_ !"

"So we just have to accept that you're somehow suddenly _gay_ now – _all_ the interest you've had all your entire _life_ in girls is just gone – like that ?" Mum asks, making no effort to reign in the sarcasm. "And Maxxie played no part whatever in this extraordinary turnabout ?"

I look at her, so blow away that she would insist on it, to my face – that my words aren't to be believed, that I'm a brainless, gullible infant to Maxxie's conniving, opportunistic scum … and I feel like I must not know this woman – that I don't _want_ to know her.

He had told me about it, the ugliness it can bring out in the people you love, that you will hurt in ways and in places you didn't know existed ... but I guess I didn't want to believe him.

The voice in my head says to tell her, them, that _I'm_ the one who can't take this anymore. That the whole exchange has disgusted, disappointed and demoralized me, that I'm saddened and ashamed of my family right now, and that I'm leaving - first bus out of town, or I'll sleep in a graveyard, or join the fucking circus.

Instead of saying any of this, however, I answer her question, directly.

* * *

_Act 4._

"Actually, I have to confess something, mum. Maxxie _did_ play a part in convincing me to turn gay. Do you wanna know how ?"

"_No."_

"Well too bad, because here it is: _He fucking fucked my brains out-"_

"_-Tony, that's enough !-"_ Dad bellows, but I shout over him.

"_-Yup, SODOMIZED the shit out of me - and I him ! All_ _weekend_ ! I'm _not_ kidding: we must have done it _eighteen_ times, AND I FUCKING _LOVED_ it ! !-"

* * *

_Act 5._

In the next instant, I'm pushed forcibly from the house and rapidly down the front stairs, so that I almost fall and break my neck. Not by mum. Not by dad.

By _Effy_.

On the sidewalk, excoriating me the whole way, with both hands she pushes til we're half way down the block.

"You _stupid_ fucking _arsehole_ ! You _seriously_ think they wanna hear about you _bottoming _? ! _How_ does that help your case ? ? Didn't Maxxie tell you what to say and what to _NOT_ fucking say ? ! How could you be such an _idiot_ ! ?"

"Fuck 'em if they can't handle it !" I yell in the direction of the house.

Effy stands back and crosses her arms. I've only ever seen her turn the colour she just turned – bright red – a few precious times. It happens when she's _so_ hopping fucking furious that she might actually kill you.

"Ya, Tony ? 'Fuck mum and dad' ? Did you forget what you fucking _put_ them through the last year, stupid selfish arsehole _twat_, _just_ cuz you couldn't bring yourself to _look both ways before crossing the STREET ?"_

"Ya, Ef," I snap sarcastically, "I _totally_ fucking _forgot_ about getting hit by a bus ! Totally slipped my mind !"

"You're such a stupid fucking _wanker_ you probably DID ! You almost killed mum – almost fucking destroyed her from all the endless stress and worry and disruption. Did you forget that she went on depression pills cuz of you ? That she could barely pick herself up off the floor, you fucking wanking fucking _prick_- ?"

"-What does this have to do with _anything_ ? !" I yell, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation.

She stops and glares at me in disbelief, like I'm the most stupendously brainless creature she's ever encountered.

"Why do _I_ know this and you don't know this ? As the best friend, as the _boy_friend of the fucking gayest poof in Bristol, why do you not understand _Coming Out 101_ ?"

I squint. I look at her like she's nuts. She shouts.

"In other words, what part of _'you are shoving something sudden and brand fucking new and extremely hugely shocking and scary in their faces' _do you not understand ? ?"

I go to interrupt but she cuts me off.

"-Number _one_. Number _two_, you can't _demand immediate_ acceptance, fucking twat ! I _know_ you're dying to tell the whole world and you probably won't fucking shut up about it for _months_, but mum and dad – and _me_ - have been through fucking _hell_ this year because of you, and you've only just in the last few months stabilized, and that means their lives – and _my_ life – have only _just_ stabilized, too – finally ! So to not only drop a bomb like this, but to do it in the worst, _stupidest_ fucking way – they just barely fucking heard about it for the very first _time !_ Hello ? They're _allowed_ to feel shocked and blindsided ! They're allowed to fucking be _upset _and to fight you on it, because as far as they're concerned, this is _not_ their _son._ You know why, stupid fuck ? Because for the seventeen and a half years preceding _Friday_, far as they and everybody else was concerned, you were _straight_. On _Monday_, suddenly you're a fucking _poof_. You get me ? !"

I stand back, shaking, absorbing it all, and hating her for being spot-on right. Maxxie's words meanwhile come flooding back:

_To a parent, a kid coming out is like a funeral – the death of someone they love. And what is our first reaction, always, to death ? Denial. _

I take a big, deep breath. I sit down on the curb. A moment later she joins me.

Why does it have to be so hard ? I think. I'm in _love_. This is a _good_ thing. Why can no one see that ?

"So what do I do, Ef ?"

She sighs in exasperation.

"_Talk_ to them. Don't fucking _preach_. Don't _demand_. _Don't fucking mention taking it up the arse ! !_ Didn't Maxxie coach you at _all_ ?"

"Ya. I guess. But I didn't really listen."

"Great," she says. "Great way to start a relationship, fuckwad."

"Fuck _off."_

I pick up a pebble, and throw it far as I can.

I think.

"I know he said they'll need time – that they're not gonna accept it overnight; to give them like, a few months, or whatever. He also said they might never accept it."

We look off, pondering the pavement beneath our feet. The prospect of them not potentially accepting this - the everyday reality of what that would mean - the rift that it would cause in the family, in _both_ families, and in my life, let alone what it would mean for Maxxie and I -is genuinely unnerving and terrifying.

_Christ_. I want _so_ badly to run away from this. To grab Maxxie by the hand, and never look back.

Romantic slop, yes. As if either of us could survive a day, homeless and penniless.

I reach for a bigger pebble this time, and throw it further, so that it pings against the street lamp.

"They'll come round, Tone."

I swing my head to the side.

"Doesn't feel like it right now, Ef."

She looks at me.

"Okay, I know you're all annoyingly love-struck and shit, but take your head out of your arse for a second. Think practical. _Not_ accepting this is sort of impossible. Mum and dad aren't the 'tough-love' types; they're not religious and they're not about to make their brain damaged son homeless, yknow ?"

I look off, processing this, seeing the sense in it, but still feeling unsure.

She half smiles. "Which sucks, cuz I've always wanted your room. _Twice_ as big as mine."

I smile.

"And," she continues, "it's not like they can _not_ talk to you for the rest of your life." She picks up a pebble and throws it, herself. "They've _always_ been soft on you; _too_ bloody fucking soft." She looks at me. "_Fact. Especially_ since the accident." She looks off. "First born, y'know ? Which, in most families, the parents are tougher on, to set an example, or whatever, and yet, they've always been tougher on _me_. Total bullshit."

I laugh.

"It's cuz you're a _girl_, Ef. They have to guard your _good name. _To marry you off quick."

"Right," she snorts. "Nobody marries a tart."

I squint.

"Um, you're not quite a tart, Ef."

"No," she says. "But _you're_ a _poof_."

I laugh out loud.

She stands. She extends her hand to me and I take it, and she pulls me up.

"Stonem clan," she begins, "mum, dad ..." and I finish her thought:

"... _tart, poof."_

We laugh. We stand there a minute and it strikes me suddenly, how much I love my little sister. Before I can say anything along these lines, however, as we begin our slow way back to the house, she speaks.

"'So like, you and Maxxie. This is one of those super sappy-arse love stories, huh ?"

I laugh. I answer her in mock exaggerated tones.

"_'Sick Boy Finds Love."_

"_With Pretty, Built Blonde'." _She adds.

We laugh again. Christ, after the stress of the day, it feels _so_ bloody good.

"Who," she says, "is gonna argue with _that_ ?"

* * *

_Act 6._

Back at the house, mum is in the loo, crying. _Great_. And dad's fucking ripped about it.

"Happy with yourself, then ?"

I ignore him and knock on the door.

"'S'me, mum."

"Go away, Tony."

"No. I'm coming in."

I push against the door. She's there, sitting in the corner chair, next to the small pot of fake flowers ... with a red and tear streaked face. _Great_. I don't feel _too_ shitty.

"Mum," I say softly, crouching down by her. "Listen. I'm sorry. I know this is a shock. I know it's sudden and all that, but-."

"-I just don't understand," she sniffles, dabbing at her eyes, "where is this coming from. I'm – we're – completely baffled. How could we not be ?"

"It just …" I shrug, "it happened. This was months back. He sort of entered my sphere of vision, and … that was kind of it."

She sits up. "This is so hard to hear," she says, as she blows her nose.

"It's not a bad thing, mum, what I'm telling you. I'm in love; that's all."

"With a boy," she snorts.

"_Yes," _I say, determined to keep this civil. "Hard as that may be to believe." I turn to her. "Mum, gender is … what I guess I've realized is, you don't fall in love with the _gender_. You fall in love with the _person_."

My best line, and yet all she does is rub her hands up and down her face.

"I just absolutely cannot believe I'm hearing this. It's like I've woken up on another planet."

"That's why I'm trying to give you some of the back story. To help you understand."

She looks drawn and tired. Older than her 45 years.

"I don't know that I want to hear it."

"Well, if not now, then some time."

"I just want this to go away, Tony. I want you to wake up tomorrow and-"

"-It's not going away, mum. And really, that is such a shitty thing to say-"

She goes to interrupt me, but I cut her off.

"-Because if I'd fallen in love with a girl-"

She nods.

"-Who pretty much only had good qualities-"

"Yes."

"Who the family already knew and liked and trusted-"

She stops.

"Who just _happened_ to be the daughter of your oldest friend ..."

She blinks. She looks off.

"... You'd be ecstatic. Admit it."

She looks at me. She examines my face.

"It's not the same thing, Tony."

"It's not ? How ? Aside from the fact that Maxxie has a penis, explain it to me, please."

"That's _exactly_ the difference. You're _not_ bloody _gay_."

Christ. The impenetrable ironclad fucking concept that is the G-word.

"Why does it matter so much ? Whether or not it's the first time this has happened, _why_ is it so important that I _not_ be permitted to stray into another territory if I feel drawn to it ? People do that, especially young people; it happens all the time. _Why_, if it speaks to me, and it works, and it hurts no one, and it's not unhealthy, and it in fact, makes me, for the first time in ages, _incredibly_ happy ?"

She sits in silence. She has no answer.

Here, at last, in what by this time is a day-long battle, is my chance.

"Will you listen to a bit of the back story, mum ? Please ? It will help."

There's a huge long pause. She seems to be thinking about it. I'm holding my breath, waiting for her answer.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she agrees.

* * *

_Act 7._

I shrug.

"It just happened. I didn't know why. I didn't understand it. All I knew was, it was there. I spent all my time fighting it – a huge amount of wasted energy trying to kill it – to deaden this part of me which was coming alive and awake for the first time, but no matter what I did _the fucking thing kept being there_ until I couldn't _pretend_ anymore. I couldn't keep _lying_ to myself, or to him, or _any_body. Maxxie didn't know about it before this weekend– he had no _clue."_

I touch my hand to my gut.

"It's here, inside me, mum. And I swear to god, it's fucking _beautiful_. This is _not_ about me being ill; I promise. In fact, you know what ? I'll go so far as to say this is about me being _healed_."

She exhales and turns away, her face pinched, tears jumping to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I know this is … difficult, _but it's not a bad thing, _mum. It's _love_, and it's made me feel a million feet tall-"

"-I can't accept this," she blurts quietly.

My heart sinks like a stone. I jerk back slightly. I lick my lips.

"You can't accept this ?"

She looks at the floor.

"I just feel right now like …" she clenches her fists. "Like my head is spinning." She looks at me. "I feel really angry at Maxxie, honestly."

"Mum, I promise you, I _guarantee_ you, this was _not_ his doing."

She says nothing for a minute. I can see the wheels turning in her head.

"You said he told you he was in love with you. When did he say that ?"

I sit back. I think.

"It was outside this club. Right after I told him how I felt."

"What made you tell him right then ? Had you been drinking ?"

I look at her, annoyed.

"I told you. I had a total of a half drink the whole _weekend_, mum. I was _not_ drunk, _neither_ of us were, not even close, _nor_ were we spliffed up – you _know_ I don't do that shit anymore-"

"-Alright, alright. Go on. Finish what you were saying. What made you tell him at that moment ?"

"I … he, he was dancing in the club with a guy; bloke just walked up and asked him to dance, and I was watching them, and I was suddenly totally overcome with this raging jealousy. I felt _sick_ about it – seeing him with somebody else - so I sort of stormed out of the place - and Max followed me outside, and kept asking me what was wrong over and over because I was like, visibly upset, and he absolutely insisted I tell him, and finally, I couldn't fucking hold back anymore. I told him."

"And it was then that he said that he loved you ?"

"Ya," I half smile. "Right away."

"Tony, listen. I'm serious. Do you not think it odd that as soon as you tell him that, that he suddenly decides he's in love with you, too ? It just seems a little too perfect."

God, how it saddens me to have him doubted.

"He's gay," she continues. "Has been all his life. He's always dating boys – I think Bill was the longest relationship he ever had. Meanwhile, there you are on the side, a _very_ good looking, charismatic boy, his best mate, and you two are so, so close. How much of a push would it take for Maxxie to decide you're his latest boycrush ? The flavour of the month ?"

"_Mum_," I snap, but she continues.

"Believe it or not, I don't mean that disrespectfully, Tony. I want you to look at _facts_. Maxxie has been with _lots_ of boys, mostly very part time. That means he falls in love a _lot_, or at least has a lot of crushes and infatuations. So when you told him how you felt, and he said it right back to you, how do you know it wasn't just another-"

-"Look. It's not gonna help things if you keep insisting Maxxie's a liar or a slut, that he's conning me or that he took advantage. Honestly mum, the idea that you would think that about somebody who's absolutely beyond reproach, who's been like a son to you and a brother to Effy – who gave up _so_ much of his life to help us all out when I was recovering, is just … it fucking makes me want to vomit. Not to mention how _incredibly_ insulting it is that you think I could be so easily duped. _Please_ hear me about this: _Maxxie didn't turn into a scumbag just because he fell in love with me, okay ?_ If you take _nothing_ _else_ from this conversation, please take _that_.

Just as it's been months for me, it's been months for him, too. He didn't decide he loved me, the second I told him how I felt. He was already there. We've both been trying to fight this thing, trying to ignore it and pretend it wasn't there, which was just so fucking stupid. And even when we both finally admitted it, he sort of didn't believe me at first. We had a huge, long discussion about it. Practically a fight. He tried to protect me, in a way. He actually tried to talk me out of it."

"Really ? Jesus. What did he say ?"

I think back.

"He said ... he said he wanted to be sure it wasn't me being woozy from the rides."

It feels like a breakthrough moment, but when she laughs, I'm so tense, I almost jump.

"He said," I continue, "he was my caregiver and he therefore had this huge responsibility to watch out for me, and make sure I didn't make mistakes. And I told him the whole back story, and he told me his, and that was it. There was sorta nothing left to discuss."

We each take a slow, lengthy breath.

"What _is_ his back story ?"

I shrug.

"Same as mine. He began having feelings, but they were hidden completely away, never to be acted upon. He's had things for straightboys before, and that can be dangerous – if they find out – so he'd become expert at hiding it. That's how come I never knew."

"Did he know about you, before you told him ? Did he have any inkling ?"

I shake my head.

"No. He just noticed that I was giddy and antsy around him all of a sudden – Effy noticed that too - and that I hated Bill, which again, Effy totally sensed."

"You hated Bill ?"

I smile wryly.

"Oh my god, I fucking hated his _guts_. Nothing against him personally, it was just pure jealousy." I look at her. "Did you know that Bill even knew it, and told Maxxie to his face that I was jealous of him ?"

Her mouth drops open. "God, really ?"

"Not only that, but the night they broke up, Bill also told Maxxie that he – Maxxie – was in love with me."

"Fuck !"

"Again, right to his face - that Maxxie didn't love _him_ – _couldn't_ love him, because he was already in love with _me_."

She looks off.

"Mum," I continue after a beat, "_please believe me_. The bottom line is that this whole thing is _real_. To the point where I don't honestly think I could be more in love with Maxxie than I am."

She suddenly covers her face and burst into tears.

I touch her shoulder.

"It's okay," I whisper. "It's alright."

She sobs a while more before speaking.

"I'm just …" she says, wiping her wet face with the back of her hands. "I'm _afraid_, Tony."

I search her eyes. Much as I don't like doing so when they're tear-filled, I can tell in them right now is something … _something_ ... Possibly the beginnings of … could it be ? Acceptance ?

"Afraid ? Why ?"

She wipes her nose with a tissue. "Of what you'll _go_ through, tosser, if you go down this road."

I shrug. I smile.

"Shit. Been through lots and lots, mum. This I can handle. Totally worth it. I don't care what people think."

"You can't _afford_ not to care, Tony. You can get beat over the head for it, and we can't afford for you to reinjure your brain."

I laugh.

"Not to worry, mum. If it'll make you feel better, I'll wear a helmet."

* * *

_Act 8._

There's a long, _long_ silence. She looks off, eyes wet again, face a picture of motherly concern. It hits me, that this is the exact same face she wore for much of the last year.

I _hate_ it, the strain I've put her through. _Hate_ it. And now this.

I reach for her hand, which she takes.

We don't say anything. We sit there, for ages, in our tiny downstairs loo, each physically and emotionally withered; each lost in our own weary thoughts, of which mine are: _What. a. fucking. day. _

I feel cautiously optimistic, though, that I might've possibly gotten through to her, albeit, perhaps only a tiny bit, but still ... as this family's history has shown, if one can get through to mum, dad is usually right around the corner.

* * *

_Act 9._

She squeezes my hand and looks at me with concern.

"What, mum ?"

She hesitates. She looks down at our hands.

"You two have been sexual ?"

_God._

"Um, ya."

"So I guess you're not ..."

"Impotent, anymore. No."

"You're being safe though, right ?"

_God. Wow. _Mum _never_ talks to me about sex.

"Of course mum. You don't have to worry about that."

"You have to use condoms, every time."

My face flushes.

"Come _on_, mum. We _know_. Maxxie's totally up on that shit."

She leans forward and holds me.

"This is _so_ hard."

"I know."

"I just need time."

"Okay," I say, emotions right on the edge.

"I mean, I can't guarantee anything, but I'll try and understand, I'll try and see it from your perspective, and, y'know, I mean, again, there's no guarantees, I don't know how I feel about this yet. I don't know how I'll feel _tomorrow_, but … I love you _so_ much, Tony." She sniffles, as do I. "You're my beautiful boy, and you're growing up, and so … hopefully, with time ..."

I wrap her in a huge, fierce hug.

* * *

Hours later – well after midnite – whole family's been at this all bloody day, I fall down in my bed, absolutely aching, weak, and beyond exhausted, and reach for my phone.

One, two, three, four, _five_ rings, then an audible scrambling sound like the phone's been dropped, then kicked under a dresser, and then finally a breathless answer.

"_Thought you'd never fucking call,"_ he says, sounding panicked.

"Well, here I am."

"_Tell_ me, for fuck's sake."

* * *

**A/N:** Well this was a surprise - 9283 words (excluding this author's note) - my longest chapter yet. Writing Tony's coming out scene proved a bit of a slog to say the least - there wasn't a whole lot of fun in this - and I have no idea if I completely fucked it up, or what. I initially intended for it to be more of what I pictured as a standard or even stereotypical coming out scene (if there is such a thing), ie the parents outraged and stonewalling and being nasty about it- the Bad Guys; the child being hurt and angry and upset - the Innocent Victim. Somewhere midway, however, I began to realize what these people had been through with their son already, and what an extraordinary shock Tony's new sexuality would be to them, and that their desperation for it not to be true (for a variety of reasons) was understandable, and human. Not right, but for the time being at least, human.

One thing I think I failed at is time - I really wanted the reader to get the sense that an entire day had passed - that the discussion/argument/fight/gut spilling/bloodletting had gone on (off and on but mostly on) for maybe 10 or 12 hours. Harder to convey than it sounds.

If there are any readers that care to share, I would love to hear your coming out stories, or those of someone you know. Did I totally fuck this up? I know that it often goes much, much worse than what I've portrayed here, with people sometimes kicking their own kids out of the house, with kids being forced back into the closet in order to protect themselves, or forced into 'therapy', etc., but I didn't see Tony's family as being the type. Not to say they won't have their struggles with this - they will.

Meanwhile I will begin work on the next chapter, which I expect will be the last, or second to last. Not sure yet.

Thanks.

PS- For general inspiration, great writing, storytelling, wicked humor, awesome politics, smarts, and guts, I want to thank the amazing Dan "It Gets Better" Savage.


	30. The End

We've all heard of hanging on someone's every word, but for me, as he starts to speak, it's like I'm hanging by a bloody _noose_ tethered to every syllable, every tiny inflection of his voice, not to mention that other 'hanging' – when one's life hangs in the balance. It's not until several minutes in that I realize I'm not breathing, that my body is rigid, that I'm frozen to the spot, every muscle clenched.

Even in condensed form, the whole recounting takes forty minutes, at some point during which, I remember to breathe. I hear of the general doubt/denial/disbelief, the accusations made against me, the insistence that he visit the doctor, Effy's outdoor advice, the tears, the screaming, the sarcasm, the strides Tony appeared to make, well into the day, with his mum in the loo, followed by the battle starting all over again with his dad, the subsequent screaming row that ensued between both parents, Effy taking and throwing a ceramic antique to the floor to make them stop, his dad promptly bolting from the house, his mum crying and calling after him, his eventual return and the tense, four-way kitchen table discussion that followed, etc etc etc.

"Christ," he says, sounding thoroughly drained. "it's like a war. Like I need a bloody solicitor. A _criminal_ solicitor. Or a bodyguard. I had no _idea_, Maxxie."

"Fuck's sake, Tone," I snap, "you're not allowed to pause. _How was it left ? ?"_

I can hear his weary shrug.

"It was left that I think mum may come round, but dad's being a dick. Everything I told my mum that seemed to work, didn't work with my dad. It was almost like he was pissy at mum for her maybe in his mind 'caving', and he therefore had to take the opposite tack and insist that I would wake up in the morning 'myself' again, but that I was seeing the doctor, regardless."

"Does he blame me ?"

"Of course. That, and my brain. He thinks it's something organic, or at least, that's what he's pinning it on, because that way, they can just xray my head or give me a pill and his son'll magically be straight again."

I take a breath, shallow – my lungs are incapable of anything else - and flop back in my chair, wanting to feel relieved, _so_ desperately in need of a break from the tension and fear, from this _thing_ standing in the way of the rest of my life, but realizing we don't have that luxury, yet.

"It's still early, Tone. Just the first day. It's a _process_, remember," I tell him, hoping that my attempts to sound calm and analytical will ease my pitching stomach.

"Fucking balls-out _painful_ process. Today was harder than anything I went through with my injury."

"I know," I say, flooded with guilt. If only I hadn't confessed it to him, how I felt, if only I hadn't told him that I loved him, we'd both have been saved from the potential horror that accompanies meeting _The One_, and then having him wrenched from your life.

Holy shit, did I _actually_ think that ? Christ ! If anything is a measure of how difficult this is, it's that I actually just caught myself wishing for a variation of _The Closet__._

"It's alright Tone. Your mum, she's usually the family bellwether, right ? And she seemed to-"

"-My dad and her are in bed talking, or I'm sure, arguing about this right now, and ya, he usually follows her lead, but that doesn't mean he won't convince her to turn tail come morning-"

"-She might, Tone. My parents flip flopped about this for _weeks_ until they finally came round. It was awful. I literally almost got an ulcer from the stress."

"I feel like my brain is one big ulcer, right now."

"You should go to bed."

"Fuck, are you kidding ? Not til I hear what happened to _you_."

I recount my parents' shock, their initial, unbelievably insulting suspicions as to the sincerity of my intentions, their expressions of disappointment and frustration that I could possibly have 'let this happen' considering _all_ of the other boys there are in the world, their dire predictions for my mum's friendship with Tony's, their concerns as to whether this is the right thing for him to begin with, the impact it would have on him in society and at school, their almost complete disregard for my feelings in the matter, our own resulting screaming match and eventual roundtable meeting during which we all cried, then had a group hug (including the family dog), and the whole thing closing with them promising to support me, and giving our relationship their tentative, nervous blessing.

"Christ," he says. "How long did all this take ?"

"Two, three hours. When you didn't call me after the fourth hour, I was fucking pulling my hair out. I did five hundred crunches and about two thousand jumping jacks until my dad yelled at me to stop cuz the walls were shaking. By the sixth hour, all I could think was that you'd been thrown out the second floor window and were lying dead on the sidewalk. I had to stop myself from running to your place and-"

"-Bloody good thing you didn't. Early on, mum said she would ring your goddamn neck if she saw you, and dad said you were no longer welcome in the house."

_Christ_. I flop back against the chair.

Okay. Calm down. This shit – parent-posturing - is to be _expected_. Absolutely par for the course, and I tell him so.

"I just wanna be past this," he says, "I wanna fast forward to like two years from now."

"Tony, it won't take two years, I promise. It'll be months, tops. More like weeks."

"I don't feel like I can handle weeks."

"Well, not to say there'll be a battle every day. The first day is typically the worst. So, that's behind you, now. It sounds like you did really well, actually, if you felt like your mother was coming round so relatively quickly."

"I think she was. She listened to me, the entire back story, and we even held hands, and she hugged me. Those are good signs, right ?"

"Or course, Tone."

"But how do I know she won't flip flop overnight ? My dad's probably convincing her, right now, that it's my fucking _brain, _because he doesn't want people to know he has a homo son. I should storm into their bedroom and-"

"-Tony, listen. They're _going_ to have irrational thoughts. They're _reeling_. Your dad is, anyway. Knowing your mum, and the dynamics in your family, I really think she's going to bring him round."

"But how do you know ? What if, come morning-"

"-_Fuck_ the morning. You've had ten hours of hell. You _need_ to back away from this, now. You need rest. You're in bed. Go to sleep."

There's a big sigh on the other end.

"Do the deep breathing I showed you. It'll help," I whisper. "Then, sleep."

"Okay," is he weary response.

"Remember I love you. Nothing will change that."

Silence.

I wait.

Nothing.

What the ?

"Tone ?"

Silence. My god, is he … is he trying to send me a message ?

"Tony ?"

Silence.

Oh god. Is he uncomfortable, suddenly with me saying that ? Is he afraid to say it back lest it jinx things ? Lest everything fall apart ? Is that how little faith he has-?

"-Tony, fuck's sake, what is it ? Are you there ? What's wrong ?"

The next sound I hear I'm quite familiar with.

_Snoring_.

_Christ_thankgod.

Bloody boy's so spent, he pitched off before he could hang up his mobile, which is sweet, in a way, but ... did he have to give me a bloody heart attack ?

I crawl under the covers, snuggle down, turn up the volume and hold it by my ear, so that as I drift off on our first night apart, there is Tony, with me.

* * *

The coming days are a roller coaster, to say the very least. Tony's fears about his mother's flip flopping prove mostly false, but Tony and his dad grow increasingly estranged, with his dad basically ignoring him, particularly once Tony refuses to see the doctor. On the third day, the two blow up at each other, during which Tony accuses his dad of being a hypocrite (for having ever given lip service to gay rights), and a coward, telling him he cares more about what his friends and neighbors think, than his own son. A yelling match ensues, to the point where his dad calls him a _poof_, his mother bursts into tears, and Effy smashes another porcelain antique. His dad then storms from the house, and spends the night at his brother's. The three remaining Stonems use the occasion to break out a bottle of wine, and get slowly, wearily pissed.

Dad's brother, Tony's Uncle Jim, apparently works a little magic, for upon dad's return on Day Four, he apologizes, and promises to listen to the Back Story, or rather Stor_ies_, for he declares that he is now open to listening even to mine.

His dad doesn't say much. He grunts and nods, and asks few questions, but it's a start, and Tony swears to me excitedly that he can see the change in his eyes.

* * *

"I think I really can, Max," he tells me afterwards on the phone. "I think this might actually be it – the moment when he finally starts coming to grips."

"_Oh_, thank god," I respond, hand over my eyes.

"Ya, cuz I don't know if I can stand this anymore. Every day I don't see you I think I'll lose my mind."

"Same here."

* * *

By the week's end, Tony reports that he and his dad are talking again, almost as before, but Tony begins to notice that The Topic is never raised. It's almost as if his dad has decided that so long as they ignore it, so long as they pretend it isn't there, all will be fine. It's then that Tony pulls a Tony, and, without telling me first, asks his parents permission to bring me to the house.

Which, unfortunately results in his dad immediately flying off the handle, which leads to a part screaming match, part insult-a-thon, the two nearly coming to blows until Effy steps between them, and his dad finally storms from the house to spend another night at Uncle Jim's.

So the sticking point, then, clearly, is _me_.

* * *

"What do I _do_, Max ?" He says to me on the phone, almost frantic.

"There's nothing you _can_ do. Your dad's throwing tantrums. I'm sure his brother will straighten him out, again."

"But you know what ? I'm almost beginning to think mum and dad's marriage is gonna break up over this. Dad's even sleeping on the couch."

"Oh, dear."

"They're barely talking. Why does it have to be so _hard_, Maxxie ? So destructive ? I didn't expect that. I didn't expect my whole family to blow apart."

We sit. We sulk. I feel awful.

"_I'm so sorry."_

He says nothing. The endless tension and stress is clearly getting to him, and for that I feel particularly horrid, which is why I blurt the unthinkable. The thing the guilt-ridden part of my mind makes me say.

"Tone, do you wanna give up on this ? I mean-"

"_-WHAAAT ? !"_ He shouts, so loud, that four miles away, I jump in place.

"I just, I-I mean, if it's crossed your mind, if you don't think it's worth it-"

"_-If I don't think it's WORTH it ! ? _Where the FUCK did _that_ come from ? ! _Is that how little you value our relationship ? ! _I'm going through absolute _hell_ over here-"

"-I _know_, Tony, I-"

"-My whole _family's_ fighting, my home life's breaking up, I'm going out of my fucking _mind_ battling this every day _just so we can be together_ and _you_ wanna _back out of it, now ? ! _Are you fucking-!"

"-NO!" I shout into the phone. "NOW WILL YOU CALM THE FUCK _DOWN, _please ?" He does, but it takes minute or two. Finally when there's silence on the line, I speak.

"Look, I'm _sorry_. I feel incredibly _awful_ about this, Tone, that's the only reason I said it. It's _not_ a reflection of how I feel – you _know_ I love you to pieces – and I sure as _hell_ have no plans to back out of this, _nor do I want to._ I'm just racked with guilt ! I feel like it's all my fault, what you're going through and I can barely sleep."

I hear the bed springs creak as he flops backward onto the mattress. He's quiet for a minute before he speaks.

"I just wanna make absolutely sure you haven't changed your mind."

"Tony, come _on,_ didn't you just hear me ? Do you _seriously_ think I _could_ change my mind overnight about who I love and who I wanna be with ? _Please_ don't read anything into what I said, for fuck's sake. It was just a weak moment. A result of the stress."

He takes a long, deep breath.

"I know. Sorry. Didn't mean to flip out."

"Don't apologize."

There's a pause on the line as we each gather our thoughts.

"I miss you," he says.

My heart swells.

"Oh, I miss you too, my angel. Feels like months."

"I wanna see you."

"We can't, Tone. Not til this blows over. If I showed up at your house, I'd get a black eye."

"What if I went to your place ?"

"Not a good idea. Until your mum and my mum start communicating again, it'd be too fucking tense and awkward, and would just cause more problems."

"Well maybe we can sneak off together."

"How ? Daytime's out – both of our mums are home most days, and my dad's off work right now. Both of our families are watching us like hawks."

"Middle of the night, then."

I shake my head.

"Too risky. Your dad's got insomnia and he's sleeping on the couch; he'll hear you going out, and instantly know why."

"So I'll climb out my fucking _window_."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll fall and break your head, and then they'll come after me with a bloody _machete_ because it will be _obvious_ why you were sneaking out."

"We'll figure _some_ way out, and we'll get a hotel."

"Well, do you have money? Cuz I don't. I'm skint - spent every quid I got for my birthday on Brighton."

"I'll swipe my dad's credit card."

"Very funny. Why not just convince your mum to let your dad back into their bed, and-"

"-Not gonna happen. Believe me, she's too frigging ripped at him."

We each let out a frustrated exhalation. It is rather maddening to think that we're both basically prisoners to this whole thing, until it's resolved, one way or the other.

"I miss the sex," he pouts.

"Oh shit," I laugh out loud. "Me too."

"Like _bad, _though. You don't know what it's like to _not_ have that for a year, and then have it _really intensely _for three days, all these synapses in your body wake, _screaming_ to life, and then, _nothing_."

Goddamn. Screaming synapses. He makes it sound so good. I pout, myself.

"I'm sorry."

We each stew a minute in the unfairness of it all.

"You're absolutely amazing in the sack, Maxxie."

Brat that I am, the compliment's impact is spoiled by the use of my given name versus the pet name I've become so enamored of.

Should I say anything ? No.

_Do_ I say something, though ? Yes.

"You're very sweet, Tone, but do me a favour; if you're gonna say something like that, follow it up with something better than 'Maxxie', 'kay ?"

He laughs.

"Okay. I'll remember that."

I smile, and speak teasingly.

"Anyway, you were saying about me… ?"

"Um, just how fucking amazing you are in bed. And how much I can't wait to fuck you."

"Oh my," I giggle. "Such harsh language. Yes, that sounds delicious."

"From what I recall you _like_ a little harsh language."

"No," I laugh. "Not a _little_."

He laughs.

"Something along the lines of _'slut'_, perhaps ?"

I squirm in embarrassment.

"Yes, that might be the case. Too bad out of context, it sounds so cheesy and cliché."

"I think it's _hot_."

"It _is_, but ..."

"You know, when we did it in the loo at the theatre-"

"-Oh god, talk about cliché," I laugh.

"It was fucking _epic_. Are you kidding? Squirming round in my lap like that ? Fucking _monstrous_. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are a dirty boy."

"Ya," he scoffs. "And you're clean as a nun. Except for the part about public blowjobs."

"That wasn't my fault. You _licked my fingers_ just beforehand. I had no choice."

"It was innocent ! How was I to know you were gonna fucking kneel down and ..."

There's then a pregnant pause, the air between us growing thick and weighty …

"Okay ..." He says in a breathy whisper.

"What ?"

"You, um, you sure you can't make it over here ?"

"Why ?"

"Cuz, like ..." he laughs wearily. "I'm like, mildly hard."

Gulp.

"_Seriously ?"_

"_Ya."_

"Oh, my."

"Just from _talking_ about it ..."

My mind fills in the full colour picture: Tony sprawled out on his bed in his usual light cotton trousers (which _always_ look so fetching on him) … yummy cylindrical shape very much in evidence.

"_Shit_," I snap. "Not fair. Why can't I be there ?"

"Cuz the gods fucking hate me."

"No they don't. Here, they've given you this gift. I'll get off the phone-"

"No, can't you … ? Stay with me."

"Stay with you ?"

"This is the first time I've been hard since the weekend. Which means it's the first time I've been hard, without the benefit of _you_, in over a year. Can't you just … _be_ with me a minute ? I'm lonely."

Oh my god, such a sweet baby – no way I can possibly refuse.

"Alright."

I remain on the phone, unsure what to do. We aren't saying anything. And then it occurs to me.

"Tone ?"

"Mm ?"

"Are you …"

"What ?"

"Touching yourself ?"

"Um, ya, just a … just a bit."

Fuck.

"Okay, so do you want me to go, or ..."

"No. I like the sound of your voice. It's sorta ... sexy. Why don't you like ... talk to me, or something."

"Talk to you ?"

"Ya. Y'know … what's it called ? This is kind of embarrassing … phone sex ?"

My ears nearly pop off my head.

"Have you ever done that ?" He asks.

Truthfully ? Yes. Am I going to tell him that ? _No_. Why ? Because the phone sex that I had, on multiple occasions, was with _Bill_, and Tony doesn't need to know that.

"No," I lie.

"Well, do you … do you wanna give it a try ?" he asks with an embarassed laugh. "Since we're already on the phone. I mean, I've never done it, and it's kinda cheesy, I know, but … it might be hot."

I feel a growing warmth circulating from below.

"Okay._"_

* * *

"I'm not sure what to do," he says, quietly. "What do I do ?"

"Your door locked ?"

"I don't have a lock on it, but no one will walk in without knocking first, and I think everybody's asleep, anyway."

"Good. Just … lay there and relax. I'll walk you through it. Is that what you want ?"

"Um, ya, maybe. I don't know."

I lay back on my bed, ignore the growing stiffness in my trousers, shut my eyes, and picture it.

"Okay, you're dressed, right ?"

He laughs softly.

"Are you asking me what I'm wearing ?"

"A boy needs his visuals. No, I just, I'm imagining you fully dressed, with your fly down."

The image flashes to mind and makes my pulse quicken.

"I haven't undone the zipper yet."

_Shit_.

"Okay, fuck, that's good; that is _so_ much better, actually. Fuck, why can't I be there ? ?"

"Why don't you tell me what you'd do if you _were_ here ?"

"Yes. Excellent. I'd …" My brain scrambles about in excitement, momentarily causing my mouth to freeze.

"You'd what ?"

"Sorry. I'd … I'd … if I was there, standing over you, I'd be able to see the outline of your cock through the material of those lovely beige khaki trousers you always wear. The ones you bought downtown."

"Ya." He says, "I guess," sounding disappointed that this is the best I can do.

_Christ. Drop the fashion descriptors !_

I clear my throat.

"Cuz, y'know, that would be _so_ fucking crazy-hot; your cock, stiff and achy and swollen and sweaty and trapped and making you uncomfortable."

_! Ay caramba !_

"Jesus christ," he exhales. "Fuck. _Go on."_

"Why don't you rub against yourself a while. If I was there, that's what I'd do."

"Okay. I'm just gonna ... pretend it's you."

"Ya. Do it."

Judging from the lack of verbiage, he does.

"If I was there, I'd lean over you, and rub you in soft, slow circles, with my open palm."

"Okay," he says weakly.

"How's that feel ?"

"Um, good. Nice."

"Then after a while, I'd lean down – I wouldn't be able to help myself – and open my mouth, and press my lips into the material, right where your cock is, just like I did in the hotel."

"_Ye_ god," he says with a soft, breathy laugh.

"And trace the outline of it with my tongue."

"_Fuck."_

"Flick it back and forth, and get you all wet, and hard."

_"Shit."_

"And it'd make you a bit uncomfortable, how tight your trousers were getting, but you'd like it, wouldn't you?"

_"Yes. And I'd ... grab hold of your head with both hands, and like ... jam your face right in there."_

_"Oh god. Mash it in there. And maybe I'd bite you. Bite down on your cock."_

Okay. The intense heat we're rapidly generating in each other, just with these fantasy images, let alone the knowledge that Tony is right now touching himself, is altogether _too_ piping hot for me to not, in turn, touch myself ... however because I don't want to lose focus and be distracted - because I want to quickly bring him off to help relieve him of the intense pressure he's been under - I reach out a hand and slap hard at my swelling cock, which definitely smarts, and which my cock does not like one bit, and hence it cowers downward, accordingly.

_"Go on,"_ he pleads.

"Tell me how hard you are."

"Hard."

"_How_ hard ?"

"Fuck, _really _fucking hard, baby."

_Bingo_. And it only took phone sex.

"I wanna unzip," he adds impatiently.

He's caught me off guard.

"What, you, you haven't, already ?"

_"No."_

Ahh, I realize. It's the bottom in him, awaiting instruction.

"Good," I say, salivating away, slipping into the role of top. "Do it. Take out your cock."

Pause.

"Tell me how it feels."

"Um … good."

"Stiff ?"

"Ya."

"Swollen?"

"Ya."

"Can you feel your pulse in it ?"

"Yes. Head's all purple and stretched."

Oh _fuck_. I wipe a line of drool off my chin and slap at my straining trousers again.

"Spit on your hand," I say weakly. "Wank yourself. _Slow_. _Don't_ touch the tip. If I was there, that's what I'd make you do."

"You'd watch me do it."

"I'd fucking be crawling all over you."

"Naked."

"Ya."

"Are you hard ?" He asks suddenly.

"Ya."

"And you'd rub it into me."

"_Yes_. Two hard cocks rubbing and sliding in all that sticky, lube-y pre-come."

"_Mmhh_."

Okay, the first semi-moan, and I'm about ready to cream my fucking jeans. Where is a handful of crushed ice to mash into one's testicles, when one so badly needs it?

"Talk," he pleads. "Talk to me."

"Um," I say, flinching as I give myself yet another highly unwelcome slap. "If I was there, I'd yank those khakis off you, and then I'd push your knees right up to your ears."

"Fuck."

"Cuz I want you wide open."

"God."

"And then I'd dive in after your hole."

_"Jesus."_

"Eat you for a good long while; shove my tongue into that tight, sweet, beautiful pink hole. Would you want that ?"

"_Yes."_

"I love how you squirm around when I do that. Like you did in the shower that time, remember ?"

_"Yes."_

"You're such a little hole-slut."

"It … it felt amazing."

"The whole time, though, you know what I'd be doing ? Eying your balls, and thinking how much I'm gonna suck them."

"Oh shit."

"How much I'm gonna _drain_ them."

"_Fuck."_

"First I'd tease them and play with them, just to watch you squirm, and then I'd finally do it. I'd open my mouth and _pull_ them inside and suck so hard it would sort of _ache_-"

"-I'd be tied down ..."

Oh my.

"_Yes_. _Definitely_. Strapped down tight so I can play with you and have all the control."

"_Oh god."_

"You like that, don't you ?"

_"Yes."_

"You're such a squirming little bottom-boy."

"_Yes,"_ he says, breathless. _"Fuck me, baby._ _Please tie me down and fuck me."_

_Holy shit. Tony, may I have a moment to dive into a bucket of ice water ?_

"Not yet. Right now you've got a dick that needs sucking."

_"Oh god,"_ he says, quite agitated. _"Please."_

"You want me to suck it ?"

"_Yes."_

"While I finger you ?"

"_Oh god."_

"Or maybe I'll get Aloysius."

"_Oh, no."_

"And work him into your arse at the same time."

"_Mmhh !"_

"Cuz I know how much you like that."

"_Oh god."_

"How much you _want_ that."

_"Oh god. I'm gonna come."_

"Not before I fuck you."

"_I'm gonna come."_

"_Not before I push my cock up your arse."_

"_Ohgod."_

"_Hard. Fucking you _hard_ up that tight pink hole."_

"_Guh-come."_

"_You're struggling. You're tied down while I _fuck_ you, good and hard and deep-"_

-The next sounds include strangled gasping breaths, a sudden and sharp inhalation, a pause, and then a gorgeous anguished cry ... followed immediately by gasping, panting breaths.

_Wow. Just ... wow. _

I collapse into the mattress as if I'm the one who just came.

_Why ? Why is it so bloody powerful ? Filling your man's head with images, inspiring his orgasm just with the sound of your voice ?_

Still, wonderful as it may be, I'm stricken not to be there, holding him as he winds down.

"_Christ,_" he finally says, laughing and sounding more relaxed than I've heard him in days. "Oh my god. I'm like, a big, sticky fucking _mess_."

My cock leaps at the thought of a come-covered Tony.

"That was fucking _amazing," _he continues. "Sure you've never done that before ?"

"Um, yes," I lie again.

"Well, fuck," he laughs, "_thanks_. That is like, _so_ what I needed. You have no idea."

"I think I do. You _did_ need it, Tone." I beam, grinning ear to ear. "And it was _totally_ fucking amazing to listen to, let me tell you."

"Maybe we should make this a regular thing, then; seriously, til we can fuck for real."

* * *

.

* * *

Two days later, we fuck for real. He calls me up, middle of the day, all out of breath.

"What is it ?" I ask. "What's wrong ?"

"My mum and dad are going _out_," he says, speaking in hushed, urgent tones,_ "right now; _they're_ leaving the house_, for like an _hour_. _I'll have the place to myself for the first time since we got back !_ _Any possible way you can make it over here ?"_

Whether I can or not, I _will. _After a year of impotence, it's my human bloody right to pursue sex, especially with someone I love, _particularly_ when there's no way to tell how long it might be before things blow over. Right now dad's at work, and I can probably leave with Effy under some bullshit pretense so it doesn't look obvious. Not that mum, who by this time is pretty firmly on my side, would, I think, be all that bothered, but she _might_ be, particularly since she and Maxxie's mum still aren't talking, and I can't afford to take the chance.

"Hang tight," I whisper. "I'll see what I can do," and hang up.

"Hey Ef," I say all casual, walking past mum into the living room, "why don't we, ah ... why don't you take me shopping ?"

She doesn't look up. She's on her phone texting her friends. "Fuck off," she says. "I'm busy, _obviously_. Since when are you into shopping anyway, tosser ?"

Christ. My cock's twitching in my trousers over the thought of what lies in wait, not four miles away. I move and stand directly in front of her, blocking mum's view, trying to make a face to convey urgency and also, a pleading need for discretion. Her eyes flick up at me, and I mouthe the words to her:

_I'm going to Maxxie's. Cover for me._ _Please_.

She squints.

"Huh ? What the fuck are you saying ? I can't _read lips_, brain-dead-boy."

"Tony, what's the matter ?" mum calls from the kitchen.

"Nothing, mum," I call over my shoulder, and then look at Effy, whispering through my teeth.

"_That was Maxxie. His mum and dad are going out, like _right now_, so I need to get _over _there_, right now_ - understand ? You gotta cover for me, Ef."_

"Christ," she groan/whispers, rolling her eyes. "Didn't get enough _cock_ in Brighton ?"

"_Definitely not."_

She taps something into her phone, slips it into her pocket, and stands. "Tony and I are going downtown, mum."

"You are ? Why ?"

I shrug my shoulders and try to look innocent.

"Just … shopping."

"Shopping," she says, semi-suspicious. Why does my mum have to be so canny ? Why can't she be dumb ? "For what ?"

I shrug again.

"Just, y'know … stuff."

"Okay," she says, eying me, not buying it. "So, you want me to drive you ?"

"Um, no, we're all set," I say, too quickly. "I sort of need, y'know, the exercise."

"Right," Effy snorts under her breath. "_Bum_ exercise."

As Ef and I hurriedly approach the door, mum calls after me.

"Tony."

"Ya ?"

"You just hung up from Maxxie, didn't you ?"

I'm totally taken aback but still try to keep up the charade.

"Um, no."

She cocks an eyebrow.

"You didn't ? Who else were you whispering to ?"

_Busted._

"Fuck's sake, mum," Effy blurts. "Maxxie's alone for the first time in fucking ages, and Tony needs cock."

I slump back against the door.

"Thanks Ef. Thanks a whole fuck of a lot."

Mum looks at me a minute, like she's thinking. Great. Here comes the lecture. _You know you shouldn't see him – especially inside their home – you could get caught – until everything's blown over with your father, and between me and Maxxie's mum. Please, for everyone's sake, don't do this. Not yet._

"Right," says mum, standing and getting her purse. "I'll take you. I need a few things downtown, anyway."

"_What ?"_ I ask, incredulous.

"I said I'll take you," she says, looking me up and down. "You look like shit. I'd say cock is just what the doctor ordered."

* * *

Mum roars towards Maxxie's but skids to a halt a block away.

"He lives over _there_," I say, pointing, antsy, bouncing up and down in my seat.

She looks at me like I'm nuts.

"Think I don't know where my oldest friend lives ? I'm paranoid she'll come back early, and see me dropping you off, or that the neighbors will see. They probably know the car."

"Okay," I say quickly, and go to open the door.

She grabs my shoulder.

"Wait." She reaches into her purse, takes my hand, and thrusts several condoms into it.

I look down in disbelief.

"Where did you get these ?"

"None of your business," she says, with a small smile. "Now go, _be safe_, have an orgasm or two, and bloody _run._"

I lean in, and kiss her quick.

* * *

Next I'm racing up the block, half-hard with anticipation. I fly into the lobby area, and there, by the only working lift, stand two housewives chattering away about the price of oranges. The door opens, and we get in. Fucking thing moves at a snail's pace as they continue their inane chattering, and I'm meanwhile sweating and rocking back and forth on my feet, resembling, I'm sure, an addict stressing over a pending fix.

Finally the door opens, and I _burst_ out into the hall, trainers skidding several meters on the smooth cement as I round the corner to his door. As I raise my fist to it, it opens, I'm yanked inside by the shirt, thrown to the floor, and mauled.

* * *

"_Oh god. Oh god, I've missed you," _he pants.

He looks, and smells, exactly the same - like warm rain, like some aromatic, heady blonde tonic. With all the stress, I'd been weirdly afraid it had been a bit of a fantasy.

We kiss, we rub and slide, we hurriedly peel out of our trousers.

"_Fuck me,"_ he hisses, slipping the condom over my cock. _"Fuck me, _now_."_

_Oh god. A direct order._

I spin him about, roll on top, and go to finger him but he shakes his head.

"_No need. Just _go_."_

* * *

Needless to say, the sex is frantic; almost violent - grabbing, biting, bruising, cussing. I've got one eye out trying not to slam his head into the floor as I slam uncontrollably inward, with the other conscious of the door we're laying directly in front of and the fact that his parents could walk in at any moment.

The remainder of me, however, is _all cock _– immediately I'm lost in the intense, instantly addictive sensations that I'd somehow, in the space of a week, almost forgot. Yes ... remember ? _This_ is what it feels like to genuinely _ram dick_ ... _this_ is when he bears down, quadrupling your pleasure … _this_ is when he thrusts his hips upward, to meet yours … _this_ is the sounds we make ... _this_ is the scent … _this_ is when we work out a rough, super-dirty rhythm ... _this_ is lunging for the deepest point in his body … _this _is orgasm approaching ... _this_ is Maxxie's hard-on bouncing between you … _this_ is his fingers digging into your back ... _this_ is when he grunts out your name … _this_ is eyes rolling back in your head … _this_ is the sky turning sideways ... _this_ … _oh god_ …_this_ ... is bloody _orgasm_.

* * *

I'm wheezing and gasping, disbelieving that I'm here with him at all, disbelieving what we've just done, when Maxxie pushes me up off of him, crawls out from under, stands quickly, and grabs my hand.

Flushed and dazed, I am yanked off the floor and pulled hurriedly to his room.

He kicks the door shut behind us, literally throws me down on the bed, and climbs on board.

"You are so … _unbelievably. fucking. hot,"_ he hisses, yanking my shirt up over my head, and then his own. "I am _so_ gonna _own you. Right now."_

Oh god, the ownership thing. My thoroughly wilted and depleted cock twitches terribly, and as I look up, helpless, there go my hands into his already-prepared women's-hose restraints.

"Your mum sees those," I hiss, "she'll think you're a cross-dresser."

"If you and I lived together," he says, ignoring the crack and pushing against my knees so they fit over his shoulders, "that thing'd never leave the headboard. _I'd strap you down and fuck you every single goddamn day."_

_Gulp !_

Next, he slaps on a condom with one hand, fingers me with the other, and with his third, lathers me with lube, er … well, I'm in a bit of a fog, you see, but I _swear_ he did it all at once ... and then that's it. _In_ slips his cock – slowly, carefully – this is still so completely new and scary and it takes a fair amount of adjusting - but then … we're done. I look up, and he's leaning over me like a god, gripping my hands, holding them over my head and staring me down. If he did nothing else, this alone, might actually be _it._

But it isn't. He has lots more in store and limited time, and so proceeds immediately to do this _thing _that drives me _extra_ fucking crazy … he keeps his upper body perfectly still while his hips do all the work, _snapping_ inward, _thrust-thrust-thrust, _sharp and quick, _snap-snap-snap, _over and over, and then deeper, longer, more complete.

Aside from the mental, aside from the visual – the dark pink, swollen member piercing your body as you watch - it's the fucking _sensations_. I could write a uni thesis: _In Praise of Buttfucking_. Because not only are you tight here, and to your surprise, _highly_ frigging sensitive, but then what do you do ? You allow this throbbing beast, this heated, hyper excited, blood-packed bodily organ to _bypass your flesh,_ to penetrate and _possess_ you – physically and otherwise - all the while knowing that, on it's way to popping off and bursting, it will ream you like a jackhammer, and in the process, ring out of you a blackmailer's wet dream's worth of mortifying sounds, exhalations, and facial expressions.

I lay beneath him the whole while, helpless and breached, wanting and struggling inside these restraints, _craving_ this branding, this ownership ... and it quickly sort of breaks me, demolishes any pretense I'd had that I _hadn't _in fact been reborn as a completely smitten, completely devoted squirming bottom.

* * *

It's just so bloody good and _beautiful_, is what it comes down to, the desire, on both of our parts, to inhabit and embody and meld yourself with another; the corny old idea of _making two, one_ – that I find I'm entirely shamed out of my innate, kneejerk teenage tendency to want to be flippant, to roll my eyes and scoff at such notions.

* * *

Them, horrified: _Are you trying to insinuate that bottoming is helping you to grow up ? ? To mature ? ?_

Me, red faced: _Well, in a way … yes. In fact I welcome the opportunity to preach it, and recommend it, even, from the pulpit. _

Them, disgusted: _You're SICK._

Me, proud: _No. Actually, I'm healed._

* * *

Meanwhile, the boy above me goes about the business of growling and leaning into my stunned face, kissing me to the near suffocation point, dropping his mouth to my ear, biting down hard on my lobe, muttering filth, whispering that he loves me, shifting his hips into warp speed, shuddering and grunting ... freezing, crying out, and coming.

* * *

_Phew._

* * *

So, it's true, I realize, just as he's told me: Being gay gives you an almost cruelly unfair advantage – the absolute best of both worlds – the glorious, holy ability to be both_ fuck-er_ and _fuck-ee._

* * *

After a minute, still panting and flushed, he dislodges himself from my body, leans back, carefully lowers my legs, crawls up to undo the bindings, kisses my wrists, and curls himself lovingly toward me.

I'm meanwhile floating, upended, speechless, completely overtaken, like I've just witnessed a miracle, and positively flooded with gooey, gooey emotions. I reach, wrap an arm round and pull him close.

We lay like that, for ages, each of us bathed in the pure, warm light of _afterglow;_ stilled and silenced by the presence of love.

Eventually, he speaks.

"We'll make it work, my angel."

I turn my head to look at him. His eyes raise to mine.

"We _will_," he says, with a confident nod.

I peer nervously inward, past the iris, beyond the pale blue …

... and it's true.

There we are.

* * *

Maxxie and I are happy. Our families eventually came round, and he and I became a bona fide, unabashed couple, to the envy, it turned out, of many. Sid and Michelle split. As did Chris and Jal, and then Sid and Cassie, and Effy and her various main squeezes. Mum and dad survived their son coming out, their marriage intact, if a bit rocky (but then it always was) and my mum and Maxxie's resumed their friendship, pretty much where it had left off. Dad found a way to welcome Max into the house without flinching, and eventually even got used to us holding hands.

Not to say things were easy and smooth, because they weren't. What I didn't know is that love likes to try you, and fuck with you a bit – test you, and I've never been any good at those kinds of tests.

Yes, Maxxie and I split, more than once. It wasn't his fault, or my fault, it was both of our faults – we were young and bloody stupid. While we loved each other to bits, we somehow developed a penchant for very bad and destructive rows, which eventually proved toxic to our relationship, to the point where we twice agreed it was best to part. The first time, it was six months, and the second, well over a year. I went away to uni, and Maxxie moved to London for his dancing. We dated other people. Mostly unsuccessfully. Maxxie actually went back to Bill for a brief time, which, when I heard it, hurt in ways I had forgotten I could feel. He then had a long fling with another boy, close to a year, and I'd thought that was it – The One - but for a variety of reasons, it, too, fizzled.

I, meanwhile, mainly I suppose, because they didn't remind me of Maxxie, drowned myself in a flurry of girls. Samantha, Brittany, Pippa, Ashley. Briefly, though, once, I did lose myself in a boy – Mike - fit and tanned, blue-eyed and blonde; just short enough to tuck under my arm ... I couldn't see it at the time, but it a was bit of an unhealthy ruse; never could I have brought him home, due to his uncanny resemblance to a certain someone.

* * *

So ... the way the story ends begins here:

We each went home for Christmas that year, and after not having been in contact for ages, we ran into each other, totally inadvertently, on the street. It was awkward; we stammered a bit and scrambled for topics, but, before parting, we hugged. Briefly. I remember in that instant I got a whiff of him, that certain rich, sweet, summer rain Maxxie-aroma I'd forgotten, and it brought me back, instantly, like Pavlov's, to our lovemaking.

We lingered a bit. We didn't say much. It truly was awkward. We made our excuses, and left. Later, depressed over the pending holiday, something I'd never thought I'd feel, nor had I, even once, when we'd been together, I found myself calling him up. I didn't know what to say; I made some lame excuse, and it was awkward all over again, and I was getting ready to hang up and kick myself for being such an arse ... when he blurted how much he'd grown to hate Christmas, and how he never thought he'd be the type to feel that way, and wasn't it all just so depressing ?

So it was our mutual loathing of the holiday, and dread of mandatory extended-family bollocks that led to us meet up again that day, and, due, I guess, to shyness and a lack of anything better we could think of to do, simply walking into town, which took us by our old school, the hospital where I'd had my surgeries and therapies, and inevitably, by the places we had so often inhabited, as a couple. The park bench where we made out once, in the rain. The river we used to skip rocks into, and when we had them, coins, for good luck. The movie theatre where, when we could agree on them, we saw many films, and maybe once or twice (I swear) revisited our interest in public sex. The pub, where we celebrated my 18th, and the back alley behind where Maxxie gave me his drunkenest, sloppiest-ever blow job. The tiny old cafe where we shared many a cheap, toasted cucumber sandwich. The high end restaurant we splurged on to mark our first anniversary, giggling and holding hands across the candle-lit table, much to the discomfort of wait staff and customers.

The gift shop where we later bought each other silly plastic "wedding" rings as a joke, but then found slightly to our embarrassment that we couldn't take them off.

The street corner where we had one of our worst fights, with Maxxie dramatically ripping off the ring and throwing it at my feet.

The statue in the park, beneath where we met a week later, made up, and where to Maxxie's surprise and delight – his whole fact lit up like a Christmas tree - I slipped the ring back on.

The more we walked that day, revisiting these places that had been so deeply infused with our history as a couple … the less we found we wanted to pretend.

That we were happy as things were.

That it no longer stung.

My heart, and it turned out, Maxxie's were each pierced again on that walk; the wounds needing, in the end, to reopen, before they could finally heal.

* * *

So there was a quiet beauty to it, that on the holiday week we had both dreaded, without officially announcing it, without making a splash, we became a couple, again. We sort of never hadn't been, we both realized. Other people had temporarily stepped into the shoes that he and I had each vacated, that was all; holding the place open for when we each came back to our senses, for when two people would finally stop allowing stupid idiot shit to ruin a thing that was almost perfect.

And so ... if you care to fast forward to the present, I am speaking to you from exactly three Christmases later. Maxxie and I are now both almost 25. I graduated uni nearly two years late due to my injury, and never got beyond that 92%, which, really, is fine. I don't know that I'm missing much. Maxxie, meanwhile, because he's so bloody talented, is dancing full time, and teaching dance on the side to make a bit of cash, which doesn't pay well, but combined with my salary, it's almost enough.

Ya, I said it. 'Combined with my salary.' Last year, after two solid years together, we finally got a place – a small London flat of our own, in a so-so neighborhood, but it will do. We're out right now, in fact, shopping for our very first Christmas tree as a couple – a live one, Maxxie insists.

"They smell so good," he says, "and our place is so tiny, if we get a _big_ tree, the whole place will smell like Christmas."

"So," I observe, "it's no longer a holiday that depresses us, then."

"Nope. Unless we can't agree on a bloody _tree_," he says, eyes lighting up over the eight foot blue spruce in the corner.

Regardless, this fight we're about to have, because there's no way I'm dragging that thing up four flights, will not be anything like the ones we had over, say, furniture – not that we bought much – mostly it's old scuzzy crap from home, but since we were determined to have a new bed – a big double one of our very own, grown-up couple that we are - it forced us to save and pool our money, after which we had a huge and admittedly rather gay row over the issue of plushness versus pillow top. Finally, though, we did it in pieces – mattress first (we settled for medium plush), which, due to not owning a bedframe, we then had to place on the floor for the next six months ... until eventually we could afford a box spring ... and then finally, our mums, bless them, were kind enough to pitch in and buy us a bedframe. Funnily, to this day, after so long of sleeping basically level with the floor, I forget that we're now sort of up in the air, and in mornings, tend to almost fall off. Which always makes Maxxie laugh.

So, Max, … next on the furniture agenda ?

"Bloody great _headboard_, of course," he says, eyes twinkling. "Iron, nice and sturdy, with _plenty_ of rungs and slats."

Yes. The sex, if I may say, is pretty damned good, still.

"'Still' ?" He says, looking up at me, "What do you mean, _'still'_ ?"

I laugh.

"I just mean that for two people who've fucked as much as _we_ have, it hasn't gotten old, and I always thought that that was what happened; that with time, and repetition, it got old, and stale."

"I don't _do_ old and stale, Stonem," he smirks. "_Look_ at you – you're _gorgeous_, and _I'm_ scorching, hot." He taps his temple. "You never run out of ideas so long as you've got a filthy enough _mind."_

"And plenty of inspirational porn," I laugh. "Not to mention panty hose."

"Ah ha. _Someone_ has forgotten what is top of my Christmas list - a pair of gourmet, fur lined, expensive leather handcuffs."

I grin.

"As well as a few other mildly perverse items-"

"-Which we _needn't_ say out loud here in the Christmas market."

* * *

I wrap an arm round his back. I turn my face towards his.

"So we're happy, then." He looks up at me. "They wanna know."

"_Who_ wants to know ?"

"The _readers_, tosser."

His brows knits.

"Why do they wanna know ?"

"Max, come on; they've been following along for over a _year_, some of 'em. They're _emotionally invested_."

"Ahh. Well then, they'll be happy to know we're actually like, what I'd term, um, _way_ happy, _emotionally_, and otherwise." He smiles. He shrugs. "We're just right for each other, huh, Tone ?"

"Ya. We might drive each other nuts, but-"

"-We work it out. We don't let it split us up, anymore."

"Right. We're the lucky ones. Everybody we know have broken up."

"We had enough of a taste of that, didn't we ? But it was okay. It made us go with other people, and ..." he shrugs again.

"It was weird. It just never sort of held a bloody candle; to _us,_ I mean."

"Right." he nods. "Not even close. Plus, I could never get anyone else to call me a suitable _pet_ name."

I laugh. I swing his left hand out and hold it by mine.

"Or buy you a matching plastic ring."

He smiles shyly. He flushes. He speaks softly.

"Tell them."

"I told them. They know. We got them as a joke."

"Then why can't we seem to take them off ?"

I smile. I lean in and kiss him. I pull back. He's wearing that cross-eyed, love-buzzed grin. A second later, his eyes refocus on something over my shoulder. I turn to look. On a display rack in the near distance is something shiny; a pair of tall, over the top, sparkly golden Christmas candles.

"Oh Tone," he says, flying in their direction, "look ! _Gay candles !_ Let's get them; _please, please_ ? They'll look so pretty in the window !"

I smile. I'm, head to toe, buzzy and warm.

* * *

So ya.

Happy.

Definitely.

But ... so as not to jinx things, seeing as I'm the superstitious type, I'll also say: who knows what the future holds ...

His head swings around.

"'Who knows what the future holds ?' _I_ know what the future holds, tosser. _Us !"_

I laugh. Oh god. Yes. I _do_ love this boy.

I tuck him under my arm and plant a big kiss – _mwah !_ - on the side of his lovely blonde head.

"_Right,"_ I point at him with my thumb. "What _he_ said."

* * *

**_THE END_**

* * *

_NOTE: the next 'chapter' isn't a chapter, it's my final author's note/reflections on the story, things like why it ended the way it did, why I had the boys address the readers, some specific thank you's to individual readers, inspirations, and commentary on things like the gay marriage debate, etc. Sounds boring, maybe, but heck, you've come all this way - why not give it a shot ? _:)


	31. Author's Final Note

_**Author's final note:**_

Okay, so there you have it - the big Valentine's Day final edition of Tony From Scratch.

For the folks in the, wow, _29 different countries_ who have been following along with this story, I am humbled and I'd like to thank you (hopefully correctly) in your own languages (sorry if I left anyone out, or screwed this up):

**Cheers. Merci Beaucoup. Dankschen. Gracias. Dziekuje. Multumesc. Blagodaryu. Grazie. Obrigada. Va multumim frumos. 谢谢你. Do jeh. Kiitos. Dankewol. ありがとうございます Paldies. Takk. Hatur Nuhun. Salamat. Nandri. (너무) 감사합니다! Dakujem. Hvala.**

* * *

**The story has had quite a trajectory,** from Tony, due to coma, being 'sealed inside of his own body' (a phrase I stole from the film 'A Single Man', in which Hoult's character, Kenny, says the same thing) – capable only of thought and emotion, to 'waking up', and having to relearn _everything_ (language, motor skills, recognizing one's own family, etc) from scratch, to the complete loss of sexual function, his social circle, and a full year+ of school (he who had always been top of his class), to gaining a new best friend ... whom he then proceeds to falls madly in love with ... and who ultimately cures him of his impotence and because of whom he is forced to redefine himself sexually.

When Maxxie first enters the picture, Tony is in a bad way; verbally abusive, lashing out, given to tantrums and destroying rooms. His family have no choice in loving and supporting him – that is the definition of unconditional love. Maxxie however, as a then merely casual friend, was free to bail at any point, but instead proved an absolute rock solid constant in his life, and the ultimate key, it could be argued, to his recovery.

I love these boys together (can you tell?) Tony is ever Tony (who can rewrite a character like that?) but the Maxxie I've written here, moreso than how I wrote him in my last story, stands toe to toe with Tony. He's his own man, has oodles of confidence and is hardly unpopular with the boys. He has no real need, in other words, to have taken on the role of Tony's best mate and nurse, it's just that he has a giant heart, and can't help it. (He didn't know, of course, that he was gonna fall in love with him.)

Originally I was going to leave the ending somewhat open and had the phrase "who knows what the future holds" as the general theme, but as I was writing, the notion of a split up, followed at some point by an accidental home-for-Christmas meeting came to mind, and that just felt terribly romantic on the face of it – _but, _of course, it didn't mean that they would have lasted into the future. I knew all along I was going to have Tony looking back from some point years ahead, and it just ultimately proved irresistible to stay with the Christmas theme, and then when I imagined the two of them out shopping for their first Christmas tree together, that sealed the deal, because, really, can you imagine anything sweeter ?

(In the end, by the way, I was incapable of resisting the written equivalent of what I believe is called 'breaking the fourth wall', ie having the characters address the readers and acknowledge their existence (just as you've acknowledged theirs). It's silly, maybe, but proved too much fun not to try, and in a weird way, a part of me genuinely likes the idea that (this version of) Tony and Maxxie know that there are people out there who care about them.)

Ultimately, I'm tickled to have had them work things out, and that they've been together basically three years by the end (as well as off and on for the last 7+), _and_ that they're making a more serious go of it by having gotten a place together. I absolutely _love _the idea of them out mattress shopping (two males - among all the straight couples - trying out every bed in the store). The 'gay candles' thing made me laugh- I have this idea of Tony being more of a minimalist as far as furniture and wares, ie barely giving a toss (being the 'straighter', and therefore duller of the two) whilst Maxxie loves baubles and loud, sparkly things. (One can only imagine what their flat looks like!) I especially love the plastic rings, bought as a joke, but then worn continuously. I like that by the end, Tony, who started out and for much of the story was his usual insufferable, borderline-obnoxious self, has changed to the point where he pined terribly for Maxxie when they were apart – he kept the ring when Max threw it to the ground, and slipped it back on his finger just a week later – he had to resort to 'drowning' himself in girls after the split ups, and the one boy he dates resembles Max to an eerie degree. Like the Grinch, (speaking of Christmas), Tony's heart grew three times in the course of loving Maxxie, but that also meant it was capable of that much more hurt, too. (Maxxie going briefly back to Bill I knew would be an inevitable, and knew that that, in particular, would prove almost impossibly painful for poor Tony.)

As far as not knowing what the future holds ... after _all_ these guys have been through as friends and as a couple, the firestorm caused by Tony coming out, etc., I have to say I don't see why their relationship wouldn't continue and maybe even be a success (however you define that). Tony in particular, has been through more life changes than most people have to face _ever. _And like he said in an earlier chapter, when you almost die at 17, you tend to have a radically different perspective on what matters and what doesn't, and who means what to you. So ya, I guess I can see these guys potentially being together long term, especially since they are a bit older and 'maturer' by the time the story ends. (17 is one thing, near-25 is another.)

One can hope, anyway.

I will miss them, which maybe sounds stupid, but you _can't_ spend as much time pondering/slaving over two people's every life issue and emotional twist and turn as it takes to write a _120,000+ word, fourteen month_ story like this, and _not _seriously feel for the characters by the end. However, right now, after two straight Taxxie stories stretching from July 2010 to February 2012, with only literally a two month break, I don't know that I'll be writing any more, at least for a while. Seriously, the amount of free time this stuff takes - much as it may be a labor of love - is slightly insane, and I guess I need to start getting my life back.

* * *

**I'd like to comment on gay marriage, here, because I was surprised to learn that in the U.K. where Tony and Maxxie reside, gay marriage is not presently legal,** though 'civil partnerships' are (however apparently the government has announced that gay marriage will be considered in the next general election, which from what I understand, is in 2015.) I don't know that these two would _want_ to get married - after all, they're still young, and what's the rush ? - (also, that's a story for someone else to write!) - but I like the idea that if they wanted to, they could.

I can't mention this topic without touching on the fact that it's been _quite_ a couple of weeks here for this issue, State-side. As I write this on February 13th 2012, one day short of Valentine's, the governor of Washington state has just today signed gay marriage into law - becoming only the 7th U.S. state to do so. Also today, the New Jersey senate passed a gay marriage bill into law (though their republican governor plans to veto it.) And last week, a federal appeals court threw out the infamous Proposition 8 - the voter referendum that overturned gay marriage in California in 2008 - as unconstitutional, paving the way for this issue to ultimately go to the U.S. Supreme Court.

The logic in civil rights being put to a popular vote eludes me, but people have to be dicks, don't they ? Good thing is, when polled, folks under 40 are overwhelmingly for it, so I believe there is no question that with time, gay marriage will be the norm, and the true _non-issue_ that it is in places like good old Massachusetts, where it's been legal for 8 years, and guess what ? The sky hasn't fucking fallen (I know - I have lots of family there.) Not only that, but here's a statistic for people who argue that it is somehow a 'threat' to 'traditional marriage' (_how_, they never say): _Divorce rates in states with gay marriage are actually lower than in states without it._ Check this out, from the July 6, 2011 U.S. News and World Report:

"In states that recognize or perform gay marriages, the number of divorces in 2009 was 41.2 percent of the number of marriages. In the 36 _other_ states (for which 2009 data are available), it was 50.3 percent."

Okay people? 9.1% more divorce in states where gay marriage is non-existent, or illegal. That's _huge_. And in Massachusetts, the divorce rate has remained the same these last 8 years. Ie, gay marriage there has thus far had _zero_ impact either way on straight marriage, (and it never fucking will.)

As an American, I have to say I'm embarrassed that in addition to 13 other countries world-wide, our neighbors to the north (Canada) and south (Mexico) have both legalized this basic right, while we sit around debating it, which is just shameful. We are _not_ on the right side of history as we do so, but we'll get around to it. Just a matter of friggng time.

* * *

**As far as thanks**, one of the greatest motivators for keeping a writer going is reviewing readers. Feedback is fuel, and without it, you literally feel like you're talking to a wall. So to all of you who took the time, I offer my deepest, humblest thanks.

Just for anyone who read along for over a year, I recognize that that is a _long_ time to hang out and wait in between each chapter and keep coming back. In this quick-cut, 147 character Twitter age, when the average attention span has shortened to that of a three year old, it's especially cool and refreshing to know that people are interested to read _long_ stories, in plain black and white, with no graphics or pictures - wow, what a concept.

Specifically, I'd like to thank my awesome readers and correspondents Lizzy384, Elizabethcm10, and nawnia for their coolness and general support, as well as Junkieoctober, Prettylittlescars, Wearetomorrow, AllLostBlackout, purpleushi, aesya, Pyraoftheforest, WinterP, BigTimeGleek, and kinneyddicted.

_And everybody else who left a review ... or leaves one now, or in the future ! !_

* * *

**For general and sometimes specific inspiration** throughout the last 14 months, both for the writing of this story, and otherwise, I'd like to thank the following:

John Cameron Mitchell, for his film "Shortbus" (thanks, PJ and Paul)

Travis Mathews, for his incredibly hot short film "I Want Your Love" (long version being released this year!) (thanks, Jesse and the gorgeous Brenden)

Duncan Tucker, for his wonderful film "Transamerica" (cool soundtrack, too)

Jay Brannan, for his album "Goddamned", and his wonderfully grainy, lo-fi Youtube vids.

Kate Bush, for weirdness, and for "Sunset".

Tim Minchin, for the overall jaw-dropping genius, and for all that scrumptious hair and eyeliner.

Dan Savage, my gay husband, for general sex-positivity.

And Dian, my best friend, for putting up with me Endlessly Talking About The Writing.

* * *

RIP Christopher Hitchens


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